


Even God Herself Has Enemies

by someforeignband



Series: Dearest, 1995 [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 90's AU, A little, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Billie Eilish Song, Consensual Sex, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, HeartBreaker!John, John Needs A Hug, John is a Mess, M/M, Minor Character Death, Paul needs a hug, Religious Undertones, Soft!Paul, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, good stuff, he has a lot of issues, im a virgin, john lennon is a slut, paul is your narrator, sorry - Freeform, there's less sex than originally planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someforeignband/pseuds/someforeignband
Summary: What would the world be like if John had been dealt the right cards? What if his parents were wealthy, together, and sent him to a good school? Who would John Winston Lennon be, then?orThe One where John's a rich kid with a bad reputation at a Prestigious Private School and Paul gets accepted into a Program at said Prestigious Private School.
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Everyone, John Lennon/Original Character(s), John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe, Paul McCartney/Original Character(s)
Series: Dearest, 1995 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619071
Comments: 177
Kudos: 230





	1. all the good girls go to hell

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone :-)) im glad you're all here and possibly reading this ! hope u enjoy <33 
> 
> sorry for my gross incompetence, im relatively new to ao3 ! and i rlly do not be knowing how to use this website :-(
> 
> all chapter names coincide with songs so feel free to listen to said songs as you read !! ( they're all by billie eilish ... I know basic pls dont flame me )

I wonder if Lucifer were to manifest himself, would he look anything like John Lennon? No, not the stereotypical sort of Red-Skinned Monster with a pitchfork, horns and a tail. I’m talking about the materialization of all things tempting: a compilation of all of the deadliest things that make me, good god, the things that make me want to sin. The utmost exhibition of everything meant to be alluring, to draw in a victim so swiftly that before even realizing, they’re trapped. The sickening beauty, so charming that even God Herself might find temptation in the grace that surrounds Him. In the sort of sins that call themselves Deadly, the boy from this Wealthy House of Lennon had a stranglehold on all of them. 

Pride had nothing on the ego of John Lennon. Cloaked in Blasphemy, dripping in tendrils of Ego, tied up with Fear, and armored in Pleasure: he finds a way to turn every head, no matter the occasion. The things that he seemed to lack, were always made up for by the glint of his white smile, his amber eyes, or his arrogant scoff. No sir, Pride had nothing on John Lennon. 

Envy manifests in John’s possessive nature, the airtight grip his hand has around the neck of the things he claims. Every student at St. Edward’s College knew better than to mess with the things that John holds as his own. Even looking at something or someone in the wrong way, I’d be running for the hills. 

Because what comes next is Wrath. This kind of anger is something that little experience, but we all know that it’s there. It comes in the angry stamping out of a Woodbine cigarette, revving of the engine of his 1990 Jaguar XJS, or the sound of his rich laugh before he sicks his cronies on you. Pride bolstered coolness drapes a blanket over the reality that is the Bad Temper that John tends to hide. But a dam made of Ego can only hold back a reservoir of enmity for so long, and once that dam breaks. There’s a reason so many fear the highly-respected eldest boy of the Lennon household. 

And while sloth may not envelope this Member of the Lennon Family like the rest of the grave offenses, time stands still around him. He infiltrates your most private thoughts, planting the seeds of himself throughout every waking thought that enters and exits the minds of those around him: reducing them to something of a parasite, sucking from the Lifeblood that is provide for them. John’s lack of empathy and overall lack of trust files him under a special kind of Sloth that bleeds right into his affinity for all things expensive. 

It was no secret that the Lennons were floundering in the sort of wealth that most people would only dream. John especially, was shrouded in a sort of hazy cloud of Greed and Gluttony. Nothing was ever enough for the boy, all of his clothes, objects, hobbies, friends, etc., all of them completely and utterly extravagant. Nothing about John could be bought, not his affection, not his love, and definitely not his mercy. The idea of John putting anything out for anyone was a sort of joke. You didn’t just get to be a part of John’s life, he chose you. And no matter what you were told, nothing you could do or say would ever be enough. Whether it be the cloaks covering his stunning frame, or the amount of sexual partners he was known for, the price point on the backs of these items meant nothing to John. He was never satisfied. 

Something about the unquenchable sexual appetite of the boy pushed Lust towards the top of all of the claims to fame that John Lennon’s name carried. Something about the hungry stares, greedy touches, and demanding language had every person in his line of sight bowing to kiss the ground he walked on. But it wasn’t just the nature by which John captured his victims, it was the absolutely beguiling energy that captured every person underneath the boy’s thumb. Erogenous energy rolled off his broad shoulders, it radiated from his heavy footfalls, beckoned you closer with the temptation of a pair of icy gray eyes. His handsome features, miraculous considering the amount of unfortunate happenings within his family, were so enticing. Like the looking down from the top of a very high place and seeing the entirety of the ground splayed below you, that kind of dangerous but absolutely delicious temptation. 

Would I say that I was completely gone for the boy? Debatable. Have I found myself drowning in the affection and adoration of John Lennon? Definitely. And, if John Lennon was really Lucifer incarnate? Then I had, without a doubt, sold my soul to an extremely handsome entity dressed in a leather jacket.


	2. everything i wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul breaks the news to his friends that he's moving schools. Things are Tough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i hope you enjoy ! im not the best writer so feel free to leave any of ur thoughts in the comments (nice and constructive pls) <33
> 
> this is completely unedited ! sry <33

Nothing prepared me for what the change of schooling would be like, especially because I’d been transferred to St. Edward’s College: one of the most prestigious secondary schools in the whole of Liverpool. Which, in all reality, wasn’t saying much, Liverpool was made up of mostly the working class, you know, like me and my family. We weren’t like the poorest of the poor or anything, but we definitely lived paycheck to paycheck, and that… that was okay. It’s just how life was! I wasn’t ever starved of anything, per say, but I definitely didn’t have what most would call deep pockets.

But, St. Edward’s is full of these kids that did, I mean kids that drive American made cars, wear nice watches, and have indoor shoes as well as outdoor ones. These are the kids with in-ground swimming pools, professionally taken family portraits, and a fountain in the front yard. These are the kids that drop obscene amounts of money on a pair of Girbaud jeans, all whilst wearing a Tommy Hilfiger polo and cardigan, with Oxfords on their feet. These were the socially, academically, and financially elite, and frankly, my lower-middle class income made me stick out like a sore thumb. 

When I found out that I’d been accepted into a special music program that St. Edward’s provided, I had no idea what to even do with this information. I tried out for the position, never thinking that I would get in, and I’d continue my time at Fazakerley High School. I didn’t think it was a big deal, I had friends, I did what I could, I functioned like every other normal 16 year old in Liverpool. But when I got the letter in the mail, I couldn’t even be excited, I didn’t even know what to do. This meant a completely new life for me in my third year of secondary school, it meant leaving everything that I knew. I’d be abandoning George, Margot, Pete and Jane. It meant scrapping everything, and having to tell all of my friends that I’d run with for the majority of my life that I was leaving them. 

In fact, I didn’t really know how I planned on breaking it to my close friends. I didn’t have many, so I wouldn’t need to tell too many people, but the fact that I had people to tell at all was an inconvenience. I knew that much of the group would not take it well, there was something to be said about the kids that go to St. Edwards. And especially to the people like us, you know the middle class, there’s so much that they’d resent, especially now that I’d be running in a crowd of kids that wouldn’t so much bat an eye at people in our pay-grade. 

You know, most likely, the majority of my gang of friends would graduate high school and go on to hold middle-of-the-road paying jobs, most likely as laborers like our parents, working for those that attended St. Edward’s. It was sick really, almost like I was betraying them, my friends, almost like I’d all of a sudden decided to bat for the other team. 

I eventually decided to tell them at lunch, the last lunch before exam week started. The last week that we would all be together at one table. I figured the break after exams would give time for everyone to cool off. Summer was a time to relax and do what we could to make some extra money. 

“Paul… You what?” George rasped, part of a stale dinner roll stuffed in the side of his cheek. He was tearing into the rest of my lunch that I hadn’t eaten, “I - Geo, I’m transferring. I got into the program I applied to,” I answered, taking a small sip out of of the carton of milk I’d been given with the slop that attempted to pass as meatloaf. 

He shook his head, “You know I have to be happy for you, Macca,” George states, begrudgingly, picking apart the meatloaf on the tray. “But, frankly, I can’t believe you’re doing this to us, after everything.” He says with a mouthful of food, pointing his for accusingly at me. 

“I didn’t ask to get in! I don’t know why you’re all staring at me like I’ve grown a third eye!” I exclaim, putting my hands up in protest. Things were going, unfortunately, just as I had believed that they would. 

Pete stared at me in disbelief, his green eyes narrowing as he turned the prospect over in his head. Jane had folded her arms, shaking her head sadly, her eyebrows furrowed, biting the inside of her cheek. I could tell she was upset, her cheeks and the tips of her ears had gone almost as flaming red as her hair, and she was biting at the inside of her cheek, thinking. Margot, as laid back as she was, seemed confused but not genuinely upset like the rest of them. She merely nodded, playing with her food, not meeting my gaze. George was grumbling softly about the fact that all of this was generally unfair, and that I was betraying them. But, I knew George would get over it. George had been one of my closest and truest friends for a very long time. 

We’d always gone to school together, in grade four he’d moved in across the street, he’d been there when I’d broken my arm on the merry-go-round in grade five, fed me ice cream when I’d gotten my tonsils out in grade six, coached me through countless break-ups, taken care of me blacked-out drunk, continued our friendship even after I’d come out of the closet. Granted, the people that cared about that didn’t matter to me anymore as it is now, but back then that was a really big… problem. 

Bisexuality was something rather romanticized nowadays, but at a school as conservative as Fazakerley, it wasn’t generally taken super well. Even Jane struggled to accept it, we’d been dating at the time and I’d mentioned it offhandedly. She promptly ended the relationship, explaining that she didn’t want to play beard… but, I got over it. I loved her, and I still do… I guess, just in a different way. 

But that wasn’t what mattered right now, what mattered was trying to keep the few friends that I had, because I’d be fresh meat at St. Edward’s, I’d practically be dead in the water without a support system from my former school. “Look guys, its- this is a really big opportunity for me! I-I don’t understand the- the… I mean no I do get it. Please just- can we um- ” I try to shut George up, trying to diffuse the situation as much as I could. 

“Guys. Cmon, be adult-like,” Margot huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s time to act civil, I understand that we all hate those rich moneybags that go to St. Edward’s, but that doesn’t mean that our Paulie is going to become one of them! He’s… come on… it’ll still be the same Paul that- that we’ve always known!” She continues, smoothing a hand through her curls. “Listen, I have friends at St. Edward’s… and they’re like… listen they’re not all bad people!” Margot finishes, with a huff, shoveling a sporkful of waxy green-beans into her mouth. 

“Whatever. Just don’t come running back to us when things go south…” Pete snarls, grabbing his book bag and shoving away from the table. I sigh, Pete has always been quite dramatic, never really been one to handle his emotions astutely. I can’t meet the gaze of the others, and sigh when I see Jane grab her books off of the table and run to follow after Pete. 

I feel a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “Personally,” a soft voice comes from beside me, “I’m extremely happy for you, Paulie.” Margot soothes, smiling softly at me. My heart clenches at the thought of leaving the school year on such a bad note with Pete and Jane, and I hold my breath hoping that George will be okay with my decision in the long run. 

“Macca, you know I’m always proud of ya,” George promises. “I just wish you weren’t leaving me! Who else is gonna put up with me here! I’d be nothing without ya,” He laments, clapping a hand on my back. 

I smile, “Geo, you’re still gonna live across the street from me, ya know,” I chuckle as he sighs dramatically. We begin cleaning up our table, clearing the mess of the trays and preparing to go on about our normal day. 

“Thanks guys,” I murmur, slinging my book bag over my shoulder and preparing to walk to class. 

“You shouldn’t need to be thanking us, we’re your friends!” Margot exclaims, nudging a scowling George in the stomach with her elbow, “Right, Geo?” She grits, sternly. 

He snaps out of it, “Yeah, yeah. All that mushy ‘I’m proud of you’ bullshit. We love you, Macca.” George says, punching me lightly in the shoulder. “I’ll walk home with you after classes, alright?”

I sigh, shaking my head and smiling, “Yeah, buddy. I’ll see you after school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh i know relatively nothing about liverpool so pls do not flame me also i know this is boring pls stay tuned itll get better i promise i promise ://


	3. my strange addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> paulie meets ringo n johnny !! love you guys thanks for reading n stuff !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoy sorry this is long and unedited ! lmk what you think in the comments ! peace n luv x

The summer before beginning my time at St. Edward’s wasn’t nearly as painful as expected; however, I quickly realized how ugly this side of poverty can be. I was invited to take a couple of hours out of my day to go and visit St. Edward’s, the committee that had awarded me this scholarship wanted to formally get to know the teenager that they were pouring so much money into. And, honestly, at the time, I was quaking in my boots.

I rarely came into contact with those that lived a high-class lifestyle, they often stuck up their noses at people like me and my folks, most likely mere plebeians in their eyes. Hell, I think the richest people that I knew were those that sat up at the front of the church on Sundays, the people that would mingle with the pastor afterwards, the people that dropped bills in the collection dish, rather than coins. See, I knew people like that I just didn’t… _know_ people like that. So, I worried.

See, I lost my mum in grade 9, it was tough, but our family… my dad, Mikey and me, we were tougher. It wasn’t a shock ya know, we knew she’d been sick a long time, in fact her death came almost as a relief. It definitely didn’t stop the pain that engulfed much of that year for me. My mum was someone that always believed in me and always saw the best in the things that I sought to do. It’s not that my dad wasn’t like that, but we’d just had a different relationship than the one that my mum and I shared. I lost a guiding light in my life, mum taught me so much and if I ever felt that things weren’t going the right way, mum always assured me that everything would work itself out in time. No matter the problem.

A lot of times, in the absence of my mother, I found a security blanket in the feeling of worry. It often seemed that my head wasn’t quite screwed on tight enough most days, that my sense of direction was just a tad off, and this unshakable anxiousness enveloped the majority of how I lived my life. But, life goes on, ya know? It’ll keep rolling whether or not you consider yourself ready to move on with it. Thankfully my dad, Michael, and George provided a ton of support in those trying times. Although, it didn’t stop the occasional flare-up of anxiety when the realization that I needed my mum would hit me. Sometimes you really need a mum’s touch, a hug or kiss on the forehead, some reassuring words, and unfortunately I was shit out of luck.

Sure, I had maternal influences. The Harrisons had practically adopted me when it all happened. In fact, the Harrison family and the Best family all pitched in to buy Mikey and I suits for the funeral. It was still the only suit that I owned. I hadn’t worn it since the funeral, but considering that today was a big day and that I was meeting important people, I figured that I had better wear it.

—

“Yeah, yeah, Geo, I’ve heard about her a thousand times! I have a meeting to get ready for,” I grumble into the telephone, frowning at the length of my dress slacks in the mirror. “ _Fuck_ ,” I murmur, undoing the button and zipper, sliding the pants off.

“What?” George asks, incredulously, obviously taking note of the dejected _fuck_ that had just left my mouth.

“Pants don’t fit,” I explain, sighing. “It’s the only nice clothes I really have, I don’t know what I’m even supposed to wear to this!” I exclaim, frustratedly, kicking the slacks across my small bedroom. 

“Well, not to be a buzz-kill but you have grown quite a bit since… you know,” George’s muffled voice comes through out the phone. “Macca, just wear some dark-wash jeans and a nice sweater. You know, like what we wear to sing in the choir. It’s not a big deal… they.. you’re there on a scholarship, dude.” He sighs.

I sigh back in response, turning my options over in my head. “Yeah, okay I guess you’re right. It’s better to be on time and dressed poorly than late and dressed poorly,” I huff, digging for a clean polo in my pile of clean clothes in the corner of my bedroom. I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I attempt to dress myself while hearing little bits of nonsense encouragement from George.

“Go get em, tiger,” he chuckles finally, before the line goes dead. I sigh, putting the landline back on the receiver. I glance at my reflection one more time before running downstairs to catch the bus to make it to St. Edward’s in time for my introduction.

—

“Ah! Mr. McCartney, so glad you could make it!” A short, stocky man with a 70’s style greasy mustache greets me at the entrance to the school. I smile, widely at him, trying not to feel insecure about the fact that he’s wearing a suit and tie with dress shoes, and I’m wearing a polo from the Goodwill, a pair of my dad’s Levi’s, and Chuck Taylor’s.

“I’m Richard Starkey,” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I shake it firmly, but not too firmly. That’s something my dad taught me about making good first impressions, a good handshake is uber important, supposedly… I mean, do with this information what you will.

Mr. Starkey introduces me to his wife, Elsie, and son - also Richard - who are all dressed nicely. However, I breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that Richard - the son - is wearing clothes similar to mine, just more expensive, you know name brands and such.

“So nice to meet you all, and thank you so much for this opportunity,” I gush, trying to sound as totally unnervous as possible. I wanted to seem confident, but not arrogant. I wanted them to like me… no, I needed them to like me.

The rest of the meeting went fairly smoothly, well at least I think it did? I was so anxious, picking at my cuticles, that the tour of the school went by mostly in a blur. Frankly, I couldn’t tell you one damn thing about the inside of that school except for the fact that it _felt_ rich. God, it even smelled rich in there. No joke.

What I do know, though, is that Mr. Starkey’s son, Richard, yes it’s as confusing as it sounds, actually seemed kind of cool. Like, he wasn’t snobby, he didn’t have the gaze of a pretentious rich person, he just seemed _nice._ And frankly, that was the most astounding part of all of this.

“Richy, take Paul here back outside to his car, yeah?” Mrs. Starkey (she insisted that I call her Elsie, but that felt disrespectful to me), instructed the boy who couldn’t have been too much older than me.

“Yeah, let’s bounce,” ‘Richy’ stated cooly, waving me to follow him. I trail him like a dejected, freshly-kicked puppy, weaving through endless corridors until we reach the exit of the school.

“Where’s your ride?” He mumbled, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket. I tried not to sigh, seeing that he had, not only a cellphone (which I didn’t have), but also probably a car (which I also did not have).

“I- uh- I took the bus here, I don’t- um- have a car…” I explained, trailing off. I could feel my cheeks burning as Richy looked down at his phone for what felt like several minutes, not saying anything in response to my statement.

After an awkward pause, Richy looked up, “Shit, dude. That’s brutal I mean you could-” He begins speaking, but is interrupted by a loud rev of an engine as an extremely well-kept convertible pulls up to the curb.

The boy in the driver’s seat puts the car in park, moving the sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose to the top of his head. “Ringo, c’mon let’s roll! I’m tryna get blazed before my parents get home from the Bahamas tomorrow. The house is empty, Amber and Stu are gonna be there, it’ll be _bitchin’”_ the boy says hurriedly, as if he had somewhere better to be than in the parking lot of St. Edward’s picking up someone who I would assume is a close friend.

The driver of this luxury car doesn’t even so much as look up at Richy and I, he’s adjusting his hair in the mirror. He’s too busy rearranging his mess of auburn curls to really pay attention to anything that’s going on, not to mention he’d disrupted the conversation that I was attempting to have with one of the only people I could say that I knew from St. Edward’s.

Feeling awkward, I glanced at Richy before saying, “I’ll uh- I’ll see you when school starts… I’ve gotta catch my bus to be able to make it to dinner…” I trail off, beginning to walk away from Richy and the boy in the expensive car towards the bus station.

“Hey! Hey! Woah…” The boy in the car exclaims, getting my attention. I whirl around, meeting his gaze for the first time. “Ringo, is this the scholarship winner? The scholarship baby?” His amber eyes bear into mine, I feel my lower stomach tighten up, and blood rush to my cheeks. Out of my peripheral vision I see Richy nod, rolling his eyes and pulling out his cellphone once again.

“Well, good to meet the lucky boy,” the stranger smirks, his gaze dragging from my face to the rest of my body, eyes hungry. I did my best not to crumble under the heat of his stare, my cheeks red hot with the embarrassment of being watched so closely. “I’m John,” He states cooly, arrogantly.

I nod, curtly. “I’m Paul and it- it was very nice to meet you, John but I have to be home by dinner to make sure that I can practice my piano so I um…” I once again trail off, turning to leave the property. I really did have to go, that wasn’t a lie, but dinner was merely an excuse… I had to go but it didn’t _have_ to be right that very minute. But under the pressure of John’s predatory visual examination of my physical appearance, my stomach was in knots and I knew better than to wait around for some rich snob.

I begin to turn to leave when John calls out, “Paul!” And, I whip back around all over again, enthralled with the strange melodic quality that his voice held.

“Yes?” I ask, softly, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans, too nervous to be able to do anything else with them.

“Let me give you a lift back to your crib. Ringo and I can drop you back there, so you don’t have to walk or whatever,” John offered, seemingly out of the goodness of his own heart. But, with the way that Richy reluctantly got out of the passenger’s seat, exited the vehicle, only to take a seat in the back, I knew something like this had been pulled before.

“Sit up front with me, c’mon. We’ll listen to my new cassette, it’ll be tight, _babe_ ,” John persuades, I felt hypnotized under his gaze. And before I could really register what exactly I was doing, I was sat in the front seat of John’s convertible, watching his nimble fingers put the cassette tape into the player.

“This will be fun, huh, Rings?” John says, placing one hand on the steering wheel, and the other behind the headrest of my seat. Richy (Ringo? Rings? How could I know?) goes back to looking at his cell phone, nodding absentmindedly and saying, “Mhmm, word.”

The engine revs, and the car peels out of the parking lot, towards 20 Forthlin Road. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry if the formatting is strange, im still getting used to everything on this site ! anyways luv u all <3


	4. bellyache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John throws a party, a really big and extravagant party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this chapter is HELLLLLA long :-)) i also wrote it on my notes app so bear with me lol ! most chapters are probably going to be this long from here on out! I hope that’s alright ! also sorry that this took so long ! ive been traveling !! also happy holidays babies ! <3

The memory from the car ride back to my quaint house lingered, almost like a cold you couldn’t get rid of. One minute you think that you’re getting better, and the next you’re just as sick as the day before. The trance that I fell under after meeting John was quite unlike anything I’d really ever felt; frankly, my bisexuality had always come as sort of a question mark, but after the things that John had done and said, my bisexuality suddenly felt like an exclamation point.

He was everywhere, infiltrating the way that I acted, dressed, spoke. I’d spent less than twenty minutes in the car with this boy, and all of a sudden I was ready to risk everything for the mere chance that he’d look at me again. I was a goner. This infatuation with the idea of an entity that I’d had one fleeting interaction with began to plague my very existence.

I’d found myself wallowing in the glimpse of his existence I’d been shown, the whisper of promise that I would soon see him everyday, the excitement that coursed through my veins at the idea that this boy might remember me and talk to me at school. And I didn’t even know his  last name.

And before I really even had time to cope with this infatuation, two weeks had passed. It was suddenly the end of summer and I had no idea how to shake this... obsession.

—

“You barely know this guy, Paul!” George scolds, flipping through the hymnal and bookmarking the pages that the choir would be singing during today’s services. It was Sunday, approximately one week from now would be the night before my first day at St. Edward’s.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me,” I groaned, frustratedly, deciding to thumb through the hymnal as well. “I-I just like... I know it’s stupid-“ I mumbled, deciding to drop the subject, finding it too difficult to explain to an impatient George. He never understood a lot of these kind of things, his emotional depth often failed to go further than thinking about where he could put his dick.

“Hey, don’t hate me for being realistic!” He defended himself, adjusting the collar on his white turtle neck. I rolled my eyes, then shrugged. I mean, he was right. But this boy, god this boy was... I felt like I was being possessed. Which, probably wasn’t the best thing to be thinking as me and the rest of the choir stood to sing the opening hymn for this Sunday’s service. 

As bad as it was, I’d made the church a space to think about John for an hour or so every Sunday. As unfortunate as it was, I imagined the way he’d feel kissing me, putting his hands all over me, fingers in my hair, all whilst the minister read scripture. I know it’s horrible! I know it is! But outside church I really haven’t much free time to just spend thinking about  him ! Especially with my job walking neighborhood dogs, hanging out with George, Margot, Pete, and Jane, not to mention the intensified amount of piano practice that my dad insisted that I be doing. He excused it with the whole “you have a scholarship to keep, kid,” thing, but I was starting to wonder if all of the stuff was really worth it.

Especially now that I found that John was infiltrating even the most private thoughts. It didn’t help that he’d sometimes be in the congregation at church, but usually only when his parents accompanied him. He’d never be there alone, and when he was there he looked like he’d be almost  anywhere else. Sometimes our eyes would meet and I’d feel that familiar, sickening pull, almost like I was in a trance. 

I found myself daydreaming about the auburn curls, opal eyes, the gold-framed glasses he often wore with his charcoal grey suit. And unfortunately for me today, these thoughts materialized with a form of demon in the front row, directly facing the tenor section of the choir.

Realistically, I knew that he wasn’t looking to torture me like this. But when our eyes met, it was absolutely magnetic. He sat in between his parents, his legs spread casually enough, but the mere distance between his knees caused the collar of my dress shirt to seem all the more constricting.

“Is-Paul is that  him ?” George asks me in a hushed whisper, leaning to speak softly into my ear. I nod, slipping a finger in between my collar and my neck, attempting to alleviate the feeling of being choked as I swallowed thickly. 

“He’s looking at you, Macca,” George whispers again, giddy obviously. I hold back a scoff, rolling my eyes and elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He chuckles softly, pushing a strand of hair back from his forehead.

Was he really looking at me? I hadn’t the heart to actually look up, making actual and legitimate eye contact with John would certainly mean bad things for my appearance. But, inevitably, the choir had to get up and sing. Which meant me being on full view for John, and I guess that it was also inevitable that our eyes would meet.

And in the same manner, the cocky grin and wink he sent my way was probably inevitable as well.

Somehow though, I made it through the service, even being able to hold all of my notes fairly well, not that anyone in the congregation would’ve noticed anyway. I hurried to put my coat on, rushing to meet Michael and my dad at the back row of pews on the right side of the church. However, before I could make it over I felt a hand on the small of my back. 

“Hey, Paul, right?” The undeniably sexy voice that had been replaying in countless dreams asked from behind me. I swallowed, turning around and blinking at him.

“Oh uh! Yeah! Paul... and you’re-you’re John...?” I asked, feigning nonchalance, most likely miserably failing.

“Yeah, yeah that’s me...” he pauses, and only then do I feel his hand retreat from the small of my back. Suddenly the spot is cold, the lack of touch from John making me shiver. “So... I was wondering... would be down to come to a small kick-back I’m throwing next Friday night?” He asks, running a hand through his well-styled curls.

I couldn’t help my mouth dropping open in absolute astonishment. “You- you want  me ? To be... to be at  your house?” I ask, dumbfounded. 

He laughs, and for a moment I can’t even think, his head falling backwards in amusement. “yes! I want you there! Hell, bring some friends! I don’t care... I especially don’t care if they’re as adorable as you are!” he chuckles, softly putting a hand on my arm.

He... John just.... he just called me adorable. Suddenly, all I’m able to do is nod. He laughs again, letting his hand stay resting on my arm.

“Okay, it starts at 9 so don’t be early. My parents won’t be home! Everyone will be buggin’ it’s the last weekend of summer.” He exclaims, reaching up and putting a soft hand against my neck. I feel heat rush to my cheeks and ears and I look away from John’s gaze.

“I’m not hearing no...” John says, smoothly, dragging a calloused thumb across my jawline. I blush harder, if that’s possible, still unable to meet John’s gaze.

Nonetheless, I nod, “yes yes. Okay okay. I’ll come.” I say, finally looking up at a grinning John. But then, it dawns on me, as John is walking away.

“W-wait, John!” I call, trodding after him. He spins around, his eyes soft, a smile on his lips.

“Yes?” He asks, smiling, reaching out a hand to wave me closer. I blush, once again, looking down at my shoes and back up at John. 

“I-I don’t have your address! Or your-your phone number... I don’t have a cell phone but like-“ and I begin to ramble, but John cuts me off.

“Here, lets go out to the lobby... I’ll find a pen and paper and I’ll write it down.” John assures me, leading me out to the lobby of the church. On the way out, we run into my father and Michael.

I find myself rushing to try to explain the fact that John is one of my new friends at St. Edward’s and that he’s invited me to get to know some other kids from school. Unfortunately, the message didn’t really get across to him, and I was rushing to tell him to just stay put and I’d be there in a moment. But, luckily I’ve bought myself enough time to walk away from the boy with a piece of paper that’s practically burning a hole in my pocket.

The note read in sloppy handwriting:

Friday: 9pm be there or be square x

Lennon household: 251 menlove Avenue 

0151-123-3210 call me anytime :-)

-John

—

”How would you feel about accompanying yours truly to a party? You can totally say no! But, I’d- George I want you there...” I beg, reluctantly into the phone, hoping that the response would be positive.

“And miss out on a chance to play Robin Hood? No way! Of course I’m coming!” George says, excitedly. I’m puzzled at his response, not expecting such an enthusiastic yes from the boy.

“I can’t wait to steal some stuff! God I bet his house is enormous!” George exclaims, excitedly.I roll my eyes, of course, all he can think about is making things “even” by taking from John. I chuckle at his joy nonetheless.

“Cool so we’ll take the bus together that night?” I ask, praying for him to say yes, so I wouldn’t show up to the party alone. 

“Of course. Meet me outside yours at 8:45?” He replies. I agree and we end the call, I hadn’t really expected him to say yes to this, but nevertheless I’m excited. 

I threw the phone across the room, flopping back on my bed, rubbing my hands over my face. I couldn’t stop the grin from forming as excitement bubbles up in my stomach. I kicked my legs, punching my fists in the air and giggling, like a little kid on Christmas morning. I could not wait for this party.

—

The whole week leading up to the party at John’s went by so incredibly slowly. Not to mention, the note on the table with the instructions of “call me anytime” was practically taunting me. My heart raced at the thought of even dialing the number, and it picked up its pace at the thought of John actually answering.

And thus, the note sat on my nightstand, feeling like a threatening presence, daring me to make the fateful call. It almost felt like the small piece of yellowed paper covered in blue pen was watching me, begging me to pick up the phone.

And in a burst of confidence, after dinner on Thursday night, I picked the telephone up off of the receiver and went upstairs to double check the number, even though I probably had it memorized by now. My fingers trembled as I punched the numbers in, I didn’t know whether it would be better if he picked up or didn’t. I was scared of each outcome for their own separate reasons. But, soon the dial tone had stopped and the call was being made, the shrill ringing snapped me out of my worry. I was really, actually doing this. I was calling John.

Soon, a strange sense of panic began setting in, what would I even say?  Why the hell was I even calling anyway? This was crazy. Oh my god. I’m fully delusional- what are we going to even talk about? What if he didn’t answer? What if he didn’t know who I was? Like, what if he didn’t even remember me and uninvited me to his-

“Hullo?” John’s silky voice crackled through my end of the receiver, and I guess I didn’t really realize I was holding my breath until I let out a huge sigh to be able to answer.

“I- uhm- hello.” I replied, trying not to sound stupid. I could feel my leg shaking as I held the phone to my ear, my breaths getting caught in my chest. God this was so stupid.

“Can I... is this Paul?” John asks softly, I can practically hear the smugness in his voice. I swallowed, my throat was incredibly dry suddenly, I felt like I was swallowing sand. 

“Yeah! Yeah it is... sorry to bother you, like I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Like oh god you’re not eating dinner are you? I just- uh-“ I ramble for an unfortunate amount of time before John interrupts me, cutting off my rambling.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! I’m so glad you called,” he assured me, laughing softly. I could almost visualize his face, his soft smile and amused eyes. “Is everything alright?” He asked, concerned. 

“Oh! Oh yeah. I just... I just called ‘cause you said I could and like... I don’t know!” I huff, exasperated. He giggles softly, and my breath hitches.

“Of course you can call, hell if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you wanted to shoot the shit with me, Paul,” he says, his tone dropping to something more... sultry. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sweet on me...” he breathes, his voice low and gravely. I shiver.

“Oh... I-“ and I’m suddenly at a loss for words, the blood that had originally rushed to my cheeks was rushing elsewhere... further south.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I really dont mind. Promise,” he soothes, the pet name making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.“Now, is there a reason you called or... or did you just want to talk to little ol’ me...?” He asks, and I can hear the cockiness enveloping in his inflection. 

“I-I think you know the answer,” I answered, attempting to match his tone, but my voice shook with nerves. I swallow. 

He sighs on the other side of the line, and luckily he asks, “How was your day, Paul? Do anything fun or exciting?”

I breathed a sigh of relief as our conversation drifted to something actually normal. Luckily, it stayed on fairly normal topics and I felt the conversation drift easily. I didn’t really realize how much time had passed until John talked about needing to plug his mobile in. 

“Stay on the phone while I plug my cellphone in, yeah?” He says, and I hear him moving things around on the other line. I hum in agreement and decide to have a look at my watch.

My eyes went wide as I realized that it was nearing 11pm, meaning that I’d been on the phone with John for well over 3 hours. “Oh my God, John I am so sorry!” I exclaim, realizing I’d drained his cell phone battery and probably bored him nearly to death. 

“Sorry for what, bub?” He asks, casually. But, even with his casual response, I’m still mortified. 

“I’ve been talking your ear off for three hours!” I almost shout. He laughs. 

“Oh god, honey I don’t care! I’m happy just to talk with you!” He exclaims, assuring me. But, I’m still not convinced. 

“I’ve- I should let you go so your cell can charge. Hell, I’ve probably annoyed you enough,” I say, prepping to hang up the phone. 

“No! No! Hey, stay on for just a little longer?” He pleads. I reluctantly agree. 

I didn’t get off the phone until a little bit after two. 

—

When I awoke the next morning I was ecstatic to realize that it was the day of the party. John’s party. I rolled over to look at my clock. It was nearly 11 am, which meant that I needed to get up and practice piano. As much as I wanted to treat the scholarship like a gift and merely take it in stride, my father insisted that I crack down and practice for longer and harder than ever before.

Unfortunately, this immense love I had for the instrument was faltering under the immense pressure that my father was placing on me. Now, I knew that he wanted what was best for me and all, but piano for me was an escape, not an obligation. But, now, I was forced to spend hours of my day with the metronome on, practicing until the lines of the staff began to cross.

But I did what I had to do. I fed myself some oatmeal, showered, brushed my teeth, changed my clothes, and walked into the family room to begin practicing.

Some days it was hard for me to get into the music, but luckily today, the music enveloped me like a blanket familiarity. I fell in love with the way my fingers naturally knew just where to, like the notes on the page were sharing secrets that only we were allowed to know. I had no idea how much time had passed, and at that point I didn’t care.

It wasn’t until the phone rang that I was able to snap out of the trance that I’d been in. The shrill ringing almost made me jump, it definitely startled me. I let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over my face, and got up and picked up the one landline phone that was still attached to the wall.

“McCartney residence, Paul speaking. Jim’s out right now, but I can take a message,” I said smoothly, reaching for the pen and pad of paper stuck to the wall next to the phone.

“That won’t be necessary,  doe eyes ,” John’s familiar raspy voice came through the receiver. I feel my knees go a little weak at the pet name, why was he calling?

“Oh- h-hi John,” I say, stupidly. God, could I have sounded more dopey? Why did he affect me like this? I felt... so dumb.

“Hi, Paul,” he says, his voice sickly sweet, I let out a huff, leaning against the wall, crossing my legs at the ankles. 

“Hi, John,” I repeated with a giggle. I fucking giggled. What the hell! Who was taking over my brain? Why the fuck was I acting like this? Holy god.

“Hey, pretty. I was wondering,” he pauses, I hear him breathe out. “I was just wondering if you’d like to come over before the party, ya know? We could um... well I’m already there... but my friends and I are going to light up around seven before things really start. If... you’re welcome to join us if you- you know, if you want.” John says, and I hear him taking in a big breath.

He wanted me to come smoke weed with him.

John wanted me to come get high with him.

I was lightheaded all of a sudden, “Uh... I-I’ve never-“ I explain. “I-I’ve never had the money to um-“ I gush further, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh! Oh bubs. Hey, don’t worry, it’s like... it’s just if you want to! Don’t like... don’t feel pressure to come hang out with us, I just thought I’d- ya know- extend an invitation.” He replies, his tone was even, but his voice gravelly as I hear him take another drag, from a spliff most likely.

“Oh! Uh- I’ve actually got- I’ve got a lot of stuff to do before I can be there tonight,” I lie straight through my teeth. Truthfully, I had absolutely nothing to do and I’d love to smoke with John. But, the idea of getting high for the first time with a guy I barely knew and a bunch of his friends that were complete strangers, something about that felt... unsafe. Plus, I wouldn’t want George to have to go by himself! I knew how I handled alcohol, but weed was a different story. The costs just outweighed the benefits. 

“Okay, tight! No biggie. I’ll see you later, Bambi, yeah?” He asks, the crackling sound of him smoking a joint was clearly heard through the headset of the telephone.

“Yeah! Yeah! I’ll- I’ll see you tonight, John. Thank you,” I answer, as confidently as I can, pressing my forehead against the wall. 

“Looking forward to seeing you. Look pretty for me hm?” John chuckles, as he hears my breath catch in my throat.

“Y-yeah, bye, John,” I stutter, trying desperately to ignore the fact that it felt like it was 300° in my kitchen, and that there was a subtle- but noticeable- throbbing sensation between my legs.

“Bye, Paul.”

—

By the time that nine o’clock had rolled around, I was exhausted from the near constant worry about what John would be thinking when he saw me. Would he be glad? Annoyed? Turned on?

“Hey, Romeo, when are we leaving?” An annoyed George asks from my bedroom. He’s watching me look at myself in the mirror. I put my comb down, throwing him a glare.

“We can’t be too early, Geo,” I sigh, checking my watch. “But, I guess we can leave now,” I say, straightening my appearance one last time in the mirror. I was wearing one of my dad’s old beat up shirts that read, “Probe Records: Since 1971”. It was a maroon-ish color and fit large enough that I could roll the sleeves slightly. I had it tucked into a pair of Levi’s, which were also my dad’s and much too big on me, hence the black belt I used to cinch everything up and together. My hair was normal, nothing too crazy, I frowned at the way it went almost completely flat in the summer humidity. But, once I put my converse Chuck Taylor’s on, I felt ready.

“Okay, let’s go, Prince Charming,” George encourages, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the exit of my home.

“Bye dad!” I call out, hastily as we rush out of the house and to the bus stop.

—

John’s house was absolutely enormous. My eyes about bugged out of my head when I saw the mere size of the residence. “Holy shit,” George gasped at the grandeur of it all, we had never seen a house like this one, of this quality and size, in our lives.

First, we had to walk through a gate to even get on the property. There was a gigantic circular driveway with a large fountain in the middle. The pathway leading from the driveway to the home was well lit with little individual lamps. There was an extravagant patio area, marble pillars adorning it and holding up the rest of the house. The front doors (yes. Doors. Plural.) were large and black that offset the white marbling of the rest of the house, and were accented with large, gold door-knockers that were shaped like lion’s heads. I glanced around in absolute awe. I took note of the extreme amount of nice cars parked in the driveway, they were all perfectly polished and ranged in colors from black, to blue, to fire engine red.

There was a wall made of windows on the far side of the house, inside was a sea of people dancing and having a good time. There were expensive paintings all over the walls, chandeliers on the ceiling, and marble pillars to hold up the vaulted ceilings. The thump of the beat of the music coming through the speakers could be felt from where we were standing, on the patio... if you could even call it a patio. 

“We do not belong here,” George stated, looking up at the multitude of statues that adorned a patch of lush, green grass to the left of the entry way. I nodded in agreement.

“That’s- is that a-“ I question. 

“Yep. A fucking sculpture garden,” George muses, sighing heavily. I shake my head in disbelief.

“We... we should go in.” I declare, waking towards the entry way and then I pause, “Should I... knock?”

“Do you think they’ll hear us over that shite? Just go in, Macca.” George says, reaching for the door handle.

George throws the front door open, and my jaw drops. The entry way is unlike anything I’d ever seen. Picture this: double staircases, curve to create an entryway, all white and grey marble, huge white chandelier, arched ceiling, the absolute works. 

“Holy fuck!” George exclaims, immediately running off to explore the rest of the first floor, leaving me standing awkwardly alone. I walk slowly around, looking at all of the extravagant things that John’s family owned.

I eventually find my way into the ballroom type area, where most of the people and music are. I glance around frantically to find anyone that I know. God, even seeing some snobby kids from church would be nice. But, before I can get too far, I feel two strong hands on my hips.

“Thank god, thought maybe you’d leave me waiting around for you all night,” John’s familiar drawl comes from behind me. I can feel the tip of his nose dragging along the side of my neck, his lips follow after, peppering the sensitive skin on chaste kisses.

“So glad you’re here,” he breathes, and I can smell expensive liquor on his breath. Probably some kind of whiskey but I couldn’t tell. He kisses my neck again and I can’t even speak, my legs feeling like jelly, I can’t do anything except melt into him.

My eyes flutter closed as John whispers more nonchalant nothingness into my ear. “Fuck,” I murmur, leaning my head back onto John’s shoulder and his hands roam my torso.

“So pretty,” he whispers, and I feel him moving with me to the music. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he continues, squeezing my hips and abruptly spinning me around to face him.

He’s got a smug grin on his face, his eyes are heavy-lidded, but it didn’t stop his gaze from feeling hungry. He glanced at my lips, then back up to make eye contact. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” He stated, placing the palm of his hand under my jaw, wrapping his fingers under my chin and pulling my face forwards.

Just before our lips meet, he whispers, “Is that alright?” And all I can do is nod furiously, throwing my arms around the back of his neck. He grins into the kiss, our lips meeting for the first time. 

And holy Christ is it incredible.

His lips are thin and chapped, but I can they’ve had plenty of experience. He sucked softly on my bottom lip, his hands creeping up my back. Soon, Johns tongue is in my mouth and his hands reached down, past my hips, squeezing at my ass.

I couldn’t help the gasp that leaves my mouth as an intense flush crept onto my face. I’d never been touched like this before, so rough and possessive. I glance at John, he’s smirking and breathing heavily. I feel hot under his gaze, the predatory stare shooting straight to my dick.

“Hey. I’m gonna go get us some drinks, wait right here okay?” John says, breathless, leaning in to kiss my lips before darting into the sea of people and away from me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luv u all I hope you all have a wonderful day <33 also thank god for kaylee my rock in helping me make this chapter a reality :-)


	5. when the party’s over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John n Paul have a serious conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out kaylee, my rock !! she is my biggest motivator n i hope y’all enjoy this <33 :-) xx

I stood awkwardly in the strange vestibule before the ballroom. It was a short hallway like area that connected the entryway to the ballroom. My cheeks were hot with the knowledge that John- sweet, sultry, and undeniably sexy- had just kissed me on the mouth, in a place that people could’ve easily seen us. And now, I was waiting alone, waiting for this boy who I barely knew to come back with alcohol.

I leaned against the wall, rubbing a clammy hand against my face. Holy shit. I couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from creeping onto my face. I almost felt a squeal escape my throat, as I felt my body tense, my toes curl from the mere unadulterated elation. I sighed, looking around again at my foreign surroundings. 

There were strangely renaissance-like paintings, family portraits I guessed, that adorned the walls. They detailed the odd frigidity that the Lennon family seemed to possess, I mean the stone-cold stares as they posed for these paintings throughout the years. It was so bizarre to me.

McCartney family pictures never looked anything like this: blank stares, perfect posture, grim expressions. Especially when my mom was still around, there were always warm smiles and love bursting from within the frame. These portraits just felt emotionless.

I was snapped out of my trance by a familiar voice, “Paul?! What the hell are you doing here!”

Margot Daniels. I had never been so happy to see her. Before I can really register what’s going on, she’s engulfing me in an enormous hug. “I missed you so much! I love you so much, Paulie,” she slurs. She’s horribly drunk, I can smell expensive booze all over her.

“I love you too, M...” I say, petting the back of her head, she’s still latched protectively around my midsection, nuzzling her nose into my tee shirt.

“Marg... what are  you doing here?” I ask, trying to pry her off of me.

“I asked you first!” She giggles, moving back away from the embrace. She holds herself up on my shoulder, gazing intensely into my eyes. 

“John invited me,” I mumble before rushing into, “What about you?” I insist.

“Amber! We’re friends from church remember! Tall blonde!” She hiccups, blinking at me slowly. “Wait!  John invited you?” She exclaims too loudly, putting her hands on the sides of my face. “Paul! Don’t you know how bad he is?” She garbles, her speech slowed by the alcohol.

Her eyes narrow, her mouth pulled into a hard line. “I was gonna yell at you. But now I don’t remember what I was going to say,” she begins angrily, then fades to a giggle, placing her hand in mine. “Come on, Paulie. Let’s go dance! George is here! Did you know that? He says that he’s gonna steal! Isn’t that hilarious, Paul! He says you invited him-“

Margot continues to ramble, but I tune her out, focusing on the fact that she was pulling me away from the place that John told me to wait for him.

We stumble through the massive crowd of people dancing and drinking, until we happen upon the girl that I suppose is Amber. Tall, but not too tall, blonde, with big blue eyes, button nose. Text-book George’s type. This was trouble. I’d never formally talked to her before, but I definitely recognized her.

And, I most certainly recognized the annoying son of a bitch dancing with her. “Geo, glad you found people you know...?” I grumble, rolling my eyes and crossing arms over my chest. I saw the drink in his hand and internally groaned. I was playing mom tonight. I hoped he wasn’t too far gone, George was a lightweight and we all knew it.

“Macca! My best friend!” George yelled, Amber holding onto him at his waist, an arm around her. He held onto her tighter, stumbling over to where Margot and I stood. After steadying himself, he reached his free hand out to grab my arm.

“This is my best friend,” he repeated to Amber, who made eye contact with me for the first time.

“I’m Paul,” I say, smiling, trying to shrug off George’s hand from my arm. Her eyes go wide, and a grin spreads over her face.

“So  you’re Paul!” She exclaims, throwing her head back in laughter. And she’s laughing hard. George and Margot both look at me, then back at Amber, who continues to laugh.

“Oh my god! Cynthia’s so fucking pissed! And she’s been pissed about you! This whole time! Oh god, that’s too fucking good!” She snorts, leaning further into George.

“I’m sorry, I’m being so rude,” she pauses to take a breath, “I just think it’s too funny that... that Cynthia’s been all worked up by you!” She laughs. I look at her, confused, suddenly I’m aware of how packed in between people I am. 

“Wait- Who’s Cynthia?” I ask, stupidly, feeling completely embarrassed by the entirety of the situation. 

I feel the temperature of the room rising, my face getting hot. I feel the thump of the bass hard in my chest, and I’m extremely aware of how sober I am, all of a sudden. The three of them are drunkenly talking, but it’s like they’re speaking a different language. My head is light at the implication of John having... someone else.

“John’s been seeing her for a while! Same with Stu, I think they might have some weird threesome thing going on, I’m not sure-“ Amber keeps rambling on, giggling about the whole thing, but I can’t even bear to listen.

John was seeing other people? Two other people? I guess I always considered it, but I never really gave much thought to it. I didn’t want to break up a relationship! I couldn’t be that guy. I wouldn’t be that guy. I rub over my jaw with the flat of my hand exasperatedly, everything in that room feeling suddenly too much.

I couldn’t leave the party altogether, George was obviously having too much fun, and I refused to just leave him there. I was worried he’d be too drunk to get home, and on top of that, it would be a dick move to abandon your best friend at a party that  you invited him to come to. He was chatting up Amber the minute I turned my back- ever the shameless flirt- and I couldn’t ruin that for him. But at that moment, I needed to get away. 

I turn to leave the small circle of familiar people, but Margot grabs my hand. “Where are you going?” She shouts over the music, I merely shake my head and tear my hand away from hers. I was starkly aware of how much I did not belong at this party, and it hit me all at once.

I pushed my way through the endless mass of drunk people. I began feeling like I was making the milk run, after a few steps I’d be stopped by someone wanting to talk to me. I didn’t know many people so I tried to keep my answers polite but curt, my head was spinning and I just needed some space. 

“Paul!” I heard my name being yelled out, but at this point I was so fed up that I ignored it. Maybe there was another Paul and they weren’t trying to talk to me. 

“Paul!” The voice called again, so obviously pretending not to hear it wasn’t going to cause the desired effect. I still ignored it though, creeping around two or three more people. However, I felt a hand on my shoulder and forced myself to turn around. 

“Oh hey!” I spoke loudly over the music, trying to be nonchalant. It was the Starkey’s son,(Ringo? Richy? Richard? I still didn’t know) and a boy that I didn’t recognize. He wasn’t very tall, dark hair, light eyes a smattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose, high cheekbones, and a sharp jaw. He was  gorgeous . He was the kind of boy you’d expect to see modeling a Tommy Hilfiger sweater in an advert in your local magazine.An absolute stunner. 

“We were about to leave to go have a smoke if you wanna come with!” The Starkey boy informs me, gesturing to himself and the other boy. “Stu here rolls the best spliffs in Liverpool,” he continues, pointing again to the other boy. 

Oh, so this was Stu. This drop dead gorgeous, could be in a magazine, movie star-quality boy was Stu. Noted. 

“Uh, I-I’d love to, but I’ve gotta have a piss!” I say, trying to sound lighthearted, I wave goodbye hoping that the conversation would end there. 

“Bye, Ringo,” I say, hoping I’d picked the right name to call him by, considering it’s what John called him, I figured it was a safe bet. “Oh, and nice to meet you, Stu! I’ll see you ‘round, mate,” I exclaim, probably a bit overkill, considering the fact that he already probably hated my guts. If Cynthia hated me, I could be sure that Stu probably did as well.

Finally, I reached a corridor, searching for a bathroom, bedroom, anything. I just needed a moment to sit down and think. I wasn’t upset with John, per say. I wasn’t jealous. I just- it’s hard for me to deal with the idea that people get an impression of me before they even meet me. I mean, I didn’t want Cynthia to hate me just because John talked about me. I didn’t want Stu to hate me either... Preconceived notions of people are hard to shake. I didn’t want to come into St. Edward’s as a guy who ruins relationships. Lastly, I didn’t want John to think I was jealous. I know jealously is quite the turn off, exotically in men, but quite honestly, John’s opinion was the last thing I was thinking about at that time. Until I entered the kitchen. 

I turned the corner, coming out of the long hallway, to find the kitchen. Besides the fact that it was extravagant, white and grey marble like everything else in this damn house, it included a full dining room-style table, two refrigerators, and a full bar (which would explain the liquor bottles scattered across the tabletop). 

There were people milling around the bar, I scanned the kitchen looking for something that might possibly lead me to an empty room, or better yet, a bathroom. However, my eyes caught on a head of auburn curls much too close to a pretty blonde. I saw John’s hands mixing something in some red cups beside the blonde, her sandy locks pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had long eyelashes, pretty brown eyes, and full lips. She had a hand protectively in the back pocket of John’s jeans, the other manicured hand rested on his arm, one of John’s legs was slotted between hers. They looked comfortable. 

I sighed, shaking my head, rubbing a hand over my face. Impulsively, I grabbed one of the bottles off of the countertop closest to me, unscrewed the cap and took a large swig. I grimaced at the familiar burn: tequila. I took a couple more large drinks from the bottle, coughing slightly, looking over at the two at the bar. By now, she (Cynthia, I assumed) had her hands tangled in John’s hair, their lips locked. No, they were practically trying to swallow one another. 

I shook my head, bringing the bottle to my lips again. I was damn near chugging at this point, but slowed down when I realized I’d most likely have to take care of George at the end of the night. As calmly as I could, I screwed the cap back on the bottle and made a beeline for the hallway. I peeked in the main room where people were dancing, I spotted an incredibly drunk George and Amber sucking face against a pillar closest to the doorway.

So, rather than go back to the dance floor and put in futile efforts to convince George that we needed to leave, I headed the opposite way, back towards the entryway.

—

Fueled by spite, as well as the tequila probably, I wandered up one of the two spiral staircases, I felt pleasantly warm and slightly adventurous. I stumbled upon a corridor lined with various doors. Bedrooms most likely.

And for whatever reason, I felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to start snooping around. I began pulling on door handles, but much to my dismay, most of them were locked. I got two doors from the end of the hallway and twisted the large golden doorknob on the white door. It was unlocked. So, I threw the door open, obviously, because what else would you do?

I was engulfed by the scent of teak wood and something similar to the incense that they burned occasionally during church. I breathed in deeply, enjoying the familiar, but implacable, smell. The entirety of the room was washed in a light grey color, however most of the wall space had been plastered by posters. Vintage posters of Marilyn Monroe, an old real-to-real record player on the nightstand, Polaroid photos, Nirvana memorabilia covered most bare space. I noticed an electric guitar hanging up on the far wall, an amp plugged into the wall directly underneath it. I recognized the guitar, it was Fender Stratocaster, Blonde. It was every teenager’s rock ‘n roll wet dream guitar. It was expensive as all hell, so it really wasn’t surprising in the slightest that I found it in the Lennon household.

It was only then, in my slightly drunken stupor, that I’d realized that I was in John’s room. Rather than get the hell out of there, I did what any normal person would do: I started snooping through his drawers. 

I sat myself cross-legged on his bed, taking notice of the high thread-count sheets. I opened the nightstand’s drawer. It was mostly empty, except for a glass pipe, a couple of pens, a glasses case, and one singular condom. I scoff, picking up the golden-wrapped package. I debate poking a hole in it with a pen, then eventually decide against it, seeing as pulling the cap off of the pen felt like too much effort.

I put the condom back, closing the drawer. I move to the dresser against the left wall. I pull open the top drawer, looking at the contents inside. It was mostly folded up tee shirts, a couple crew-neck sweaters, and a couple pairs of sweat pants. Wow.Boring.

The second drawer is slightly more exciting, it’s a multitude of undergarments. Mostly underwear and socks, but I grimace seeing a lacy bra and what looked like a thong. Pinching the band of the women’s underwear between my thumb and forefinger, I pull it from the drawer to examine it. I squinted at it, debating whether or not it was dirty, before promptly throwing it back into the drawer and pushing it shut. 

I felt kind of discouraged, not really feeling like snooping anymore. My head hurt and I just wanted to lay down, but you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. So, once again I did what any other sane person would do, I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser.

I had hit the jackpot.

This drawer was obviously a sort of junk drawer, it had a bunch of miscellaneous boxes, along with some notebooks, and random cassette tapes. I scrunched my nose, reaching for one of the tapes.  Nine Inch Nails . Interesting. I rolled my eyes at the insane amount of grunge rock tapes there were, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Sublime, Smashing Pumpkins, Blur, the works. Of course he listened to grunge rock, I would expect nothing less.

I pulled out the notebooks next, thumbing through them and attempting to read the sloppy handwriting. These were poems, or songs, I couldn’t tell, but they were all... atrocious. 

Sitting on a corn flake

Waiting for the van to come

Corporation T-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday

Man you've been a naughty boy

You let your face grow long

What the fuck did that even mean? I laugh, seeing more strange variations of this poem, mentioning things about eggs, walruses and other odd things. This obviously drug-inspired poetry did almost nothing except for make me chuckle, I closed the notebooks, placing them haphazardly back in the drawer as I’d found them.

Ignoring the throbbing sensation at the back of my skull, I dug further in the drawer. I found another notebook, this one leather bound. I thumbed through this one, the words on the page feeling much more heartfelt. 

Everywhere people stare,

each and every day, I 

can see them laugh at me, 

and I hear them say...

Hey, you've got to hide your love away

I flipped the page to find more messily scrawled stanzas.

Take my hand

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

Beautiful boy

I frown, and even in my hazed state of mind, I felt like this was much too personal to be looking through. I closed the book, shoving it back in the drawer, but not before pulling out a large bong. I laugh, keeping a journal full of really personal thoughts right next to a bong? Seems about right.

I find more miscellaneous photos, a box of condoms, an obscenely large bottle of lubricant, a couple more pipes, some folded up sketches, as well as a broken seashell. I chuckle, examining the items and putting them all back before shutting the drawer. I stand up slowly, a wave of dizziness coming over me. I stumble and balance myself by holding on to John’s bedpost.

“Making ourself at home are we, sugar?” John’s voice asks from the doorway. I look behind me, the outline of the handsome boy is blurry with the current state of mind that I was in. All I can muster is a dopey grin, John’s aura immediately putting me in an better mood.

“You know, it’s not polite to just wander around a stranger’s house,” he says, sauntering over to where I’m standing, placing a hand on my lower back. 

“It’s not polite to kiss people behind my back,” I spit out, frowning at how drunk I sounded. I knew I was drunk, unfortunately. John’s eyes softened, as he went to place a hand against my cheek.

“Oh baby, you’re pissed,” he coos, rubbing a thumb across my cheek. I frown, shoving his hand off, remembering suddenly how upset I was at him.

“‘M not! Don’ touch me!” I grumble, before promptly leaning myself up against him, nuzzling my nose into the space between his neck and shoulder: teak and incense. 

A gentle hand comes to cradle the back of my head, rubbing fingers through it softly. “I’m sorry,” I slur, “I’m-I’m so drunk,” I hiccup.

John chuckles, planting a soft kiss to the crown of my head. I lean back to look up at him, my eyelids feel just as heavy as the rest of my appendages, I blink slowly, heavily, up at him. He smiles warmly, brushing my sweaty hair from my forehead. I smiled up at him, before promptly frowning.

“No, no. ‘M mad at you,” I say, slowly. John raises an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?” He asks, gingerly.

“You’ve got a girlfriend! And a boyfriend! And you’re makin’- you’re makin’ me look like a fucking fool!” I say, realizing in that moment how upset I was at the situation. I did little to stop the tears that started welling up in my eyes.

“Shit, Bambi,” John mumbles, looking at me sympathetically. “There’s no need to be jealous love, no ones making a fool out of you!” He assures, wiping the tears that start to fall.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I blubber, wiping my tears, trying to stand myself up and not use John to be able to keep steady. My head was spinning, I needed to sit down.

“I’m sorry I’m drunk! I’m not sorry I’m so upset with ye. Bein’ an arl arse you are!” I shout, stumbling to sit on John’s bed. I hated how scouse I sounded when I’m upset or drunk. I hold my head in my hands, I closed my eyes, desperately trying to make the room stop spinning.

“Hey,” John sits down next to me, putting a soft hand on my knee. “Listen to me, Paul, alright?” He says, taking one of my hands in his. I resisted the urge to melt into his touch, he softly ran his fingers across the backs of my knuckles.

“Listen, Cyn, Stu, all the rest of ‘em, sure they’re nice and all, but Paul, baby, they’re not you!” He pleads, kissing one of my knuckles. I grimace, looking at him disbelievingly.

“You don’t gotta lie, John.” I say, looking at him, directly in the eyes for the first time since he’d caught me peeking around. It was utterly magnetic, as it always was, there was so much to John that I simply didn’t know. There was a whole lot that I probably never would, but there was just something about him that I couldn’t tear myself away from.

“I’m serious.” John deadpans, placing another fervent kiss to the back of my hand. “I’m... Paul, lovey, I’m serious as a heart attack!” He says, “You wanna know why they’re jealous, Paul? I’ve known you half the summer and I can’t shut the hell up about you!” John laughs. 

I’m in awe in that moment, seeing John in all of his radiant beauty gushing about me. My sluggish brain is struggling to keep up with his frantic movements, all I can do is blink up at him, my eyes glassy from the tears I’d already spilled.

“Honey, I haven’t even laid a hand on you yet, and you’re already beating everyone in a race you’re not even trying to run! You’re winning a game you didn’t even know you were playing.” John sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. 

“You do crazy stuff to me,” he laughs, running a soft hand through my hair.

I hiccup. “Me too,” Is all I can muster at that time, leaning in and kissing the tip of John’s nose. John chuckles softly, scrunching up his nose. 

“I don’t- I don’t expect anything to change for me.” I say, sadly smiling at John. “I just- right now I think I just want to go home,” I say, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“Yeah, I- we can make that happen. Do you want me to go find your friend? George is it?” He asks, getting up from the bed, letting go of me. I nod, tiredly.

“He’s probably too drunk, I- he was with Amber I think her name was? I don’t remember-“ my speech slurring more and more, as my eyelids got continually heavier, the corners of my vision going black at the edges, just before I was dead to the world altogether. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is shit:( notes app doesn’t allow for a ton of user-friendly features :) hope u enjoyed xx


	6. ocean eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello before u read, just know i love cynthia lennon n i think the absolute world of her. the way i portray her in this book is merely as a character and does not reflect her character in the real world, whatsoever! :-) just thought i would clear that up!
> 
> Paul meets Cynthia; John gives Paul a unique opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmfao i wrote this on a PLANE !! on my notes app !! shout out kaylee as usual thank u for being my coolest editor ever ,,, so sorry if it sucks and sorry to leave y’all at a cliffhanger as usual :’) love u all hope u enjoy ! x 
> 
> next chapter posted hopefully soon,,, will be including sum smut doe !! if that’s not ur thing, ill be puttin some kinda warning so u can skip over it !! love u all so dearly x

Minus the pounding headaches the next day, George and I escaped the party mostly unscathed. John eventually called us a cab, explaining that he couldn’t drive with bow crossed he was. Drunk me didn’t really understand, pleading with John that he needed to drive us, but looking back, that was probably one of the best decisions we made that night. 

We slept on the hardwood flooring of my kitchen and George threw up in the sink... twice. Fitting. But other than that, generally everything worked out fairly okay.

Honestly, the fact that we survived without any major bumps or bruises was kind of worth bragging about. Even my dad, who I’m sure suspected that we’d had an interesting night, didn’t bring it up. After that, I supposed that there wasn’t anything that I couldn’t handle.

However, I wasn’t prepared for the constant shower of attention provided by the one and only John Lennon. 

— 

“You’re taking the bus?” John asks, leaning against the locker next to mine, sunglasses perched against the end of his nose. He looked unfortunately stunning, the plum colored blazer fitting easily across his broad shoulders. The grey tie was loosened, the top buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned. 

“Oh, hello to you too, John,” I say, grabbing a book from my book bag and putting it away. I look up at him, trying my best to seem unfazed by his presence. 

“Uh... sorry that was- erm-“ he does his best to apologize, moving the sunglasses from his nose to the top of his head. “I meant like- why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a ride. I could’ve picked you up.” He responds nonchalantly, reaching out to fix the collar of my dress shirt. 

“I’m fine taking the bus, thank you though,” I respond curtly, moving his hand away from my collar gently, giving him a soft smile. I grab the supplies I needed for my first class, trying desperately to ignore the burning sensation of John’s stare. I move my locker door to find him still standing in the same position, looking me up and down. 

“Can I help ye?” I ask, wincing at the scouse uptick my voice took on when I attempted to be abrasive. 

John shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes raking over my body. “Uniform looks good on you,” he states bluntly, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s undressing me with is eyes. My cheeks burn under the heat of his gaze, I note the small smirk he’s wearing, while still having his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. I can’t make eye-contact. 

“Johnny!” A melodic voice calls from across the hall. It snapped the sexual tension that was John eyefucking me. I look across the corridor for the source of the voice, scanning through the crowd of kids dressed in purple uniforms. 

I’m not exaggerating when I say the crowd of students parted like the Red Sea to let a sharply dressed Cynthia Powell make her way over to where we stood. She looked incredible, her hair hanging in perfect ringlets, pulled back with a purple headband. She wore the regular purple blazer, some kind of expensive handbag over her shoulder, and luxury sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose. Her grey, pleated skirt was rolled up to expose more of her legs, her white knee high socks accenting her sun kissed skin. She moved her sunglasses so that she could examine me with her big brown eyes. She assessed who I was before one emotion was made abundantly clear: envy. 

“Hi, princess,” John dotes, wrapping an arm around her small waist, smiling softly at a pleased Cynthia. She smooths her hands over the lapels of John’s jacket, taking her time running her palms over his chest. She adjusts a few of his wind-blown curls, eventually tucking one behind his ear. 

“C’mon babe, walk me to class,” Cynthia pleads suddenly, her voice strangely commanding. The blonde shoots me a glare, blowing a large bubble with the gum she was chewing. I could smell a strange mixture of mint and floral perfume from where she was standing. 

“Give me one sec, Cyn,” John says, turning his attention back to me, about to continue our earlier conversation. His eyes looked apologetic, but I was already fed up.

Apparently, the lack of John’s undivided attention was not the response that Cynthia wanted. “No. We’re gonna be late, John. Let’s. Go.” She says, almost through gritted teeth, tearing away from John’s grasp, stepping between the two of us, directly in front of me.

“I’m trying to have a conversation, babygirl. Can you gimme two seconds, please?” John soothes, squeezing her shoulder. His look is pleading, I can tell he’s just attempting to delay a fit of anger from Cynthia. She shrugs his hand off, reaching behind her and slamming my locker shut with a manicured hand. 

“Conversation’s over,” she snarls, looking back at me with a phony smile before getting on her tiptoes to peck John’s lips and take his hand to walk to class. 

“Ta, Patrick.” She says confidently, waving with her fingers. John mouthes an apologetic “I’m sorry,” but all I can do is shake my head. I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh at the debacle that just took place. Patrick? Really? I suppose, at least the first two letters were the same. 

I rub my eye with the heel of my free hand, heavy stack of books in my other. “Jesus Christ,” I mumble. 

“She’s a peach, huh?” I jump at the comment, turning around to see a unfazed Ringo standing behind me, relaxed against the lockers, sipping something out of a portable coffee mug. 

“She’s just like that when she feels threatened, like a black widow spider she is,” Ringo laughs, all I can do is stare at him, in complete shock of how absolutely shit this day had been so far. 

“Oh lighten up! She’s like a shark! She won’t bite unless you provoke ‘er. She’ll come around, come on! I’ll walk with you to your class,” he says, grabbing my arm and dragging me down the hallway. 

—

It only took a week for John to figure out where my house was. Which, quite frankly was scary considering he’d heard me tell a cab driver once when I was drunk off my ass. But, the second Monday of school, just as I was about to leave for the bus, I heard a sharp honk from the driveway. 

“Jem, I think someone’s here to get you!” My dad yells from the kitchen, he and my brother were getting ready to walk to the bus station themselves. 

I scrunch my nose at the nickname. “Thanks, Da, I heard it,” I said, hugging both of them before grabbing my books, utterly confused. I wasn’t expecting a ride. 

I walk out onto my front porch, heavy book bag slung over my shoulder. My eyes narrow at a smug John in the front seat. Nevertheless, I trudge out into the driveway, not about to give up a ride to school. 

“How in the hell did you find my house?” I ask, flipping down the sun visor, fixing my tie in the small mirror. John scoffs, putting the car in reverse and backing out of my driveway. 

“You think I don’t know how to use yellow pages?” He rolls his eyes, shifting the car into drive. “Come on, baby, I thought you’d expect more of me by now,” he smirks, placing one hand gently on my knee, the other proudly on the steering wheel. 

Needless to say, after that, I didn’t have to take the bus anymore. 

— 

Because John was taking me to and from school, I began spending a lot more quality time with him. Now, don’t think that because I was now spending more time with him meant I knew anything more about him. I knew he liked buying me expensive coffee, calling me baby (and angel, and honey, and pretty, and practically any other pet name you can think of), and kissing me til I was breathless at the top of the St. Edward’s parking lot. I knew his car’s name was Elvis, he liked grunge rock, and that his parents traveled a lot for work. But if you asked me about his favorite film, his middle name, his dream job, basically anything relatively personal, I’d have absolutely no idea. 

The fact that I knew almost nothing about him did wonders to keep this aura of mystery around him. Undoubtedly, John was the person that I spent the most time with.

Since the school year had started, I’d been hearing less and less from George and my friends from Fazakerley. I knew that there would be a natural shift in the way that our group operated, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

—

I got a call from George one Sunday in October, asking why I hadn’t been at Jane’s birthday party the day before. I frowned, explaining sourly that I hadn’t received an invite, to which George quickly apologized and ended the call before I could ask too many more questions. This incident definitely affected me more than I wanted to let on, I couldn’t believe that my “friends” had so quickly began cutting me out of their lives. 

I stewed over this incident for the majority of the week, talking about it a little bit with George, but mostly keeping everything fairly pent up. I didn’t want to bother George with something that he obviously didn’t think was a big deal, if just felt like beating a dead horse. I just worried that if things went badly at St. Edward’s I would be left alone when I went back to Fazakerley. 

At the end of the school week, I sat in the enormous St. Edward’s library, working on one of the pieces that I’d be tested on in the coming weeks. I was waiting for John. 

On Friday’s he often stayed after school, finishing some of his art that he’d been working on that week. I got used to spending time in the library on Friday’s, waiting for my ride. 

“Who kicked your puppy?” John’s breathy chuckle came from behind me. I shrug, closing my binder that held all my sheet music. 

“Just excited it’s the weekend,” I lie, beginning to pack up my things. In all reality, I hated most weekends now, I knew that all of my friends from Fazakerley were hanging out without me, I wasn’t close enough with anyone at St. Edward’s to be able to make plans with them, and I knew for a fact that John was probably dick deep in half of the population of Liverpool. 

Being associated with John was sort of a double-edged sword, it definitely had its perks. People never messed with me, even though I was the new kid, cause I sat with Ringo Starkey and John Lennon at lunch. Most of John’s inner circle was pretty protective of me, probably due to the fact that they knew John was sweet on me for whatever reason. However, it really prevented people from ever really... talking to me. Most people scattered if I even looked in their direction, and after a couple months of being in school, it was really starting to get to me. 

“I know you’re upset about something, you’re just not telling me,” John says, grabbing my backpack for me, holding out a hand to help me up from my chair. I smile sadly up at him, merely shrugging again. 

“I just... it’s nothing,” I eventually say, taking my bag from John’s hands. “Nothing you can control anyway...” I lie, deliberately. 

I didn’t want John to stop giving me the attention that I desperately and embarrassingly craved. John’s thick brows knit together, his lips pressed into a hard line. 

“I don’t believe you. Come on, call your dad. We’re getting out of the city for the weekend,” John says, holding his cellphone out for me. 

“John!” I exclaim. “I- my da, he’s- I can’t-“ I say, getting continually more flustered. Ever since my mum passed, my dad’s had an iron grip on me if I ever try to go anywhere without George. I couldn’t let him worry about me. I can imagine our conversation, ‘Yeah dad can I leave the city with a boy I barely know that I want very badly to have sex with’. Mmhmm I imagine that would go absolutely swimmingly. 

“Hey, you need a weekend off. I don’t give a damn! Let’s go back to your house and pack you a bag, I’ll even talk to your old man,” John says, gently rubbing my shoulder. “Something’s off, Paul. Don’t think I haven’t noticed in the last few weeks. Let’s just get away for a weekend, yeah?” He begs, his eyes showing true and genuine concern.

I find myself feeling, for some unknown reason, like I desperately wanted this to work out. I wanted to spend the weekend with John. I wanted to get to know him. I wanted him. And the fact that he’s invited me to get away with him for the weekend, romantic or not, makes me feel excited in a way like I’d never felt before. I wanted this in a way I’d never wanted anything else before. 

“Yeah. Yeah okay,” I find myself nodding in agreement. “You can talk to my dad... no guarantees you’re going to get anywhere though. But, it’s worth a shot,” I shrug, smiling at John. 

He grins, excitement clearly displayed on his face. “That’s the spirit, pretty,” he chuckles, grabbing my hand, kissing the back of it, dragging me out to the parking lot. 

— 

Apparently, John’s sweet talking didn’t just work on his potential sexual conquests, he was pouring so much honey in my da’s ear that I thought I’d be dead for sure. But surprisingly, my dad decided that, for the first time in nearly two years, it would be an absolutely swell idea for me to take a break from all of the hustle and bustle of the school year. John convinced him that a weekend by the sea is exactly what I needed to help ease the transition to St. Edward’s. My da wouldn’t even let us travel to the seaside when mum was alive. 

I swear that John Lennon is the embodiment of the little devil that mounts your shoulder every time you have to make a decision. I swore he grew horns and a tail as he was working some kind of goddamn black magic to convince my dad to let me go on this last-minute trip. Turns out, his silver tongue had so many more uses than merely sweet-talking peoples’ clothes off. I was utterly impressed. 

And thus, my overnight bag was packed and we were making a minor pit stop at the Lennon estate to grab John some things before we made a couple hour’s drive down to the seaside to his aunt’s cottage. He informed me to “not worry” because it’s “her summer home and so she and my uncle won’t be there”. Which, was supposed to feel soothing to me, probably. But I’m reality, my overactive mind became chocked full of ideas of what John and I would be doing over this weekend. So much so, that I didn’t even notice when we pulled into John’s massive garage. 

“Would... do you wanna come inside?” He asks, softly tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear. The skin he’s touched tingles in anticipation and I find myself nodding intently, internally registering the fact that John had me (and the rest of the world populous) under his goddamn thumb. 

“Good.” He hums, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning in and pecking my lips. My mouth drops open, I’m stunned, I touch my lips softly, only then registering the passage of time. I look up to see John already walking inside. Frantically, I clamber out of the car, following him inside and upstairs to his room. 

“I’ve just gotta grab some clothes,” he promises, opening a door placed on the far wall to reveal the largest closet I’d ever seen in my life. 

“Woah,” I murmur, blushing at the fact that actual audible noise left my mouth. John chuckles, waving me over, softly wrapping an arm around my waist. He nuzzles his nose in the space where my neck meets my shoulder, pressing his lips softly to the skin there. I feel my whole body heat up with the touch of his lips. I can’t help but lean into the touch, my mind wandering to fantasies about how he could nail me right here against his closet wall if he really wanted to. 

I’m snapped from my fantasy when he softly whispers, “Help me pick some clothes, hm?” Before pressing a few more soft kisses to the skin on the side of my neck.

I’d never been so close to John, at least not sober, and in this moment, I completely understood Cynthia Powell’s unmoving, and utterly steadfast obsession. Every movement, every word spoken, every smile, every chuckle, sent every fiber of my being into complete overdrive. Every goddamn nerve-ending in my body begged for his attention, for his touch. 

John threw some underwear into the duffel bag from the dresser, eventually opening the bottom drawer of the dresser (you know, the one I’d investigated top to bottom). He placed the leather bound notebook- that I knew had poetry in it- and one of the sketchbooks in the bag. I glanced over, wondering if he’d include the condoms in the items that he was packing. God, let’s be honest, I wanted him to put condoms in the stupid duffel bag. 

He dug through the drawer some more, mumbling about how he didn’t remember ever letting it get this messy. A blush rushed to my cheeks, realizing that I’d probably destroyed any organization whatsoever that this drawer possessed in my drunken stupor on the night of the party.

I tried not to let my disappointment show when he pulled out a bag full of pencils, placing them inside the bag, looking up at me and saying, “Okay, I think I’ve got everything.” 

I debated reaching in and grabbing the box, it was laying basically on top, I could easily reach in and grab it. I could toss it into his bag. Before I let my fear get the best of me, I plead, “Hold on, erm-“ reaching into the drawer. I open the box sightly, grabbing a handful of condoms and tossing them into the bag. 

I felt my face heat up as I fully realized what I’d done. Hesitantly, I look up at John, my cheeks and ears burning with embarrassment. I expected him to laugh, possibly poke fun at it, brushing it off as a joke. But, John was wearing the most devilish smirk I’d seen on him since I’d known him. 

“Oh... and to think... I thought we were gonna get a peaceful, quiet getaway,” he murmurs, biting his lower lip. He leans in, and for a moment I expected him to kiss me right there. However, he leans in further, lips ghosting over the shell of my ear. My breath hitches, the soft touch of his lips feeling much too sensual in that moment. 

“Now I know our weekend will be all but quiet, huh?” John murmurs, his voice textured by the sultry tone. He pulls away, but not before nibbling at my earlobe, smirking at the redness of my cheeks. I’m utterly stunned (and embarrassingly so incredibly turned on). 

He laughs, zipping his bag shut, “C’mon, honey, let’s get this show on the road.” He softly drags a thumb across my cheek, leaning in and dragging the tip of his nose along the bridge of mine. I almost thought he was going to kiss me- again- but, he hops up suddenly, “I’ll race you to the garage!” He says, taking off out of his bedroom, thudding down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for readin n i hope u all enjoyed xx


	7. bury a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John n Paul go on holiday. (also i have little to no idea if any of these facts mentioned are factually correct so pls ,,, don’t flame me in the comments)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okAY FIRST OF ALL,,, readers of this story have no business being so CUTE !!!!!!!!!! the comments i get literally make me sob :’) 
> 
> second, from here on out this story will contain sexual content that some may find offensive (nothing too graphic just sex n stuff but if u don’t like smut ,,,, :( im sry it’s a necessary part of the story) ALSO IM THE MOST UNSEXY PERSON SO PLEASE DO NOT ,,, if this is CRINGY IM SO SORRY 
> 
> thirdlyyyyy, feeling rlly sick as of late so again sorry if this chap is bad ! I will be continuing the journey on my STUPID NOTES APP due to the fact that my computer is charging in a place that would require me to walk to get to
> 
> LASTLY SHOUT OUT KAYLEE MY ROCK I LOVE HER

The little cottage by the seaside was absolutely perfect, seemingly just like everything else that the Lennon family seemed to own. It wasn’t anything special, a quaint brick house at the end of a gravel road, but everything was immaculately chosen, even down to the color of the welcome mat that adorned the patio. 

Inside the front door revealed a split-level house, one staircase leading to a small living room and kitchenette as well as a hallway of some kind. The other staircase lead down to another landing with a hallway with various doors. I sigh softly, realizing that even the summer beach home owned by John’s family would be more grand and expensive than anything I’d ever even lay a finger on. 

This epiphany almost knocks the wind out of me and all I can think to say is, “This is so nice,” as if that even began to pay any kind of homage to this beautiful home. John chuckles, just now entering the home. 

I hear him drop his bag once he gets in the door, wiping his shoes off on the rug just inside, but I’m too fascinated by the large painting that adorns the wall at the top of the stairs to notice him creep up behind me. “Yeah it’s not much but like... it’s very cottage in the woods hm?” John chuckles, softly running his fingertips up and down the length of my forearms. 

I snort at that, nodding. “Eat your heart out, Walt Whitman,” I huffed, trying to ignore the goosebumps raising on my skin from the drag of John’s featherlight touch. He laughed at that, a deep, hearty laugh, a caught-off-guard kind of laugh: it was a sound I’d yet to hear out of the young man. 

“You’re as funny as you are pretty, you know that?” he hums, and I can feel his words of praise shoot straight to my crotch. But before I had too much time to think about it, he’s kissing my cheek, picking up my bag as well as his own, and walking up the carpeted stairs and down the hallway. 

—

There were many things that I didn’t know about the seaside, like the fact that it storms nearly every night in the autumn and spring seasons. And I’m not talking about a little storm with a little bit of rain. No, I’m talking about wind that shakes the shutters, thunder and lightning, and heavy rain that falls in sheets. 

And apparently, John did not know this information either, considering that we were outside the back of the house around nightfall, standing on the rocky beach, wrapped up in blankets watching the sea. 

“You know how to skip rocks?” I ask, picking up a smooth, flat stone and chucking it into the water, watching it skim the surface and skip twice. “There are a lot of good rocks here.” I murmur, picking up another flat pebble, chucking it into the sea, and watching it skip four or five times. John’s eyes widen with this unique, childlike wonder I had yet to see in him. 

“No way! I thought they just did that in the movies! I didn’t know you could actually do that!” He gasps, hopping over to where I was standing. 

“Do what? Skip rocks?” I ask, disbelievingly, eyebrows up questioning John’s strange statement. 

“Yeah!” He gushes, his eyes sparkling with this sweet and unadulterated joy, and I find myself grinning. 

“You’re kidding, right?” I laugh, picking up another rock, and placing it in John’s hand. He quickly shakes his head no, looking down at the rock in his hand. 

“How do I-“ he asks, bringing his arm back in different motions, like he was preparing to throw the rock. I laugh again, still in disbelief that this boy didn’t know how to skip a damn rock. 

“Here- hold it like this-“ I explain, adjusting the rock in his hand. “And then you just...” I murmur, demonstrating the motion of how to throw it with my arm. It was something I’d always known how to do, I’d picked it up easily when I saw George do it, so the idea that John didn’t know how to do this simple little thing was so foreign to me. 

The rock from John’s hand plunks into the water without skipping. He shrugs, picking up another rock and making the same motion, watching the rock hit the surface of the water, and then sink. 

“This is hard,” he laughs, looking at me. I shrug, waking over to him. 

“Just takes practice,” I say, handing John another rock. I smile at him, kissing his cheek, putting a smug smirk on John’s face. 

But just like skipping rocks, I can assume that John knew nothing about the autumnal storms, due to the fact that John was just starting to get the hang of things when he asked, “Did you just feel some raindrops too?” 

I look at him, puzzled, not knowing what he’d meant. But almost as if the storm was just waiting for John to notice it, the sky opened up and started pouring; but not like a cute pouring form a romantic movie. This was painful, cold rain that cut through you like a hot knife in butter. 

We were probably about a half mile from the house by now, and in the storm I couldn’t remember how to get back. I spun around, looking for the blanket that I’d brought with me, not wanting to lose or damage any of John’s family’s things. I saw it a couple yards away, on a rock, and ran over to grab it. 

I spun around seeing John clouded by the veil of heavy rainfall, I looked around, trying to figure out which direction the house was, still feeling completely lost. The sea was unfamiliar, and so was the entirety of this situation. I could feel anxiety pulsing through my veins, mentally deducing every possible scenario of what could happen after this night. I was scared. John dropped the stone he was holding, grabbed the blanket he’d discarded, then jogged the few yards to where I was standing petrified, and grabbed my hand.

“Hey. It’s this way, cmon,” John soothed, sensing my panic. “Let’s get up on high ground,” he says, attempting to hold the blankets from the house over our heads to shield us from some of the rain. 

A loud crack of thunder was heard overhead, followed by a flash of lightening. I winced, looking around for any sight of the small cottage. Still holding my hand, John led me up from the beach to the gravel path we’d taken from the house. “Nothing to be scared of, it’s just a little rain,” He promises, shifting our grip, so that I could hold onto his arm if I wanted, rather than just a hand. 

I did. Gladly. 

“You’re lucky I’ve got my contacts in, otherwise we’d both be dead in the water,” he jokes, looking around our setting. Rather than make me laugh, I find my grip tightening on John’s arm, more gruesome scenarios flashing through my mind.

“Paul, we’re okay,” he promises, leading me up the path. “I promise, it’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, quickening his pace. 

We eventually get to the back door, as John fumbles to get the house keys from his pocket I realize how badly I’m trembling. Whether it was from the chill or the panic, I wasn’t sure. But I did know that when I looked down, my legs were shaking, so we’re my hands, and I noticed the sound of my teeth chattering together, but I couldn’t feel my jaw moving. 

“Fuck. Let’s get you inside. Come inside, love,” John commands, throwing the back door open and ushering me inside. He throws the soaked blankets into a pile on the cream-colored tile floor. We stood in a sort of mud room, it had a washer and dryer, but also storage bins and cubbies for shoes. 

He closes the door and I’m left just staring at him, his clothes soaked, his hair plastered down to his face, looking upset. “God, Paul I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry! I should’ve checked the radar I- gosh and you’re shivering let’s uh-“ John blabbers, pushing my mop of wet hair out of my face. 

I felt like I was experiencing a new part of John, one that wasn’t calm or cool or collected, one that cared about people and things, one that felt real. “Shh, John it’s okay!” I promise, holding onto one of his hands. “I’m a little scared of storms, but we made it through! And, like I’m cold but I promise it’s alright!” I say, watching his eyes soften. 

He nods, rubbing and cold hand over my face, wiping away some of the drops of water. He sighs, looking around. “Come on, pretty. Let’s get these wet clothes off you and I’ll run the shower on hot upstairs. I’d offer you a bath but the house doesn’t have one I feel so bad, Paul-“ 

I cut John off, putting my hand on the side of his face. I rub my thumb over the damp skin on his cheeks, I can feel the slight stubble over his jaw that sprinkles onto his cheeks. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I find my thoughts wandering to examine the enigma that was John Lennon. God I could pick his brain for hours, I think. 

“I’ll just have to teach you how to skip rocks another time,” I mumble, my voice shaking from the cold. Even with his lips almost blue, John’s eyes reflect a fiery golden color, overflowing with warmth. I wondered how he thought of me. Did he see the green in my eyes, or just the dark brown? Did he think of my eyes as much as I thought of his? Did he like the way I looked, and did he think of me in the privacy of his own room? Like I did with him?

I bring my other hand up, cupping John’s face in my hands, my eyes drifting to his other features. I notice that he’s smiling, softly and smugly as per usual, and that his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. “Gorgeous, you are,” he hums, his hand running through my wet hair again, tucking a couple strands behind my ears. 

I lick my lips, debating whether to lean in or not. It felt wildly inappropriate, but god, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted him to hold me, and god almighty I wanted him to touch me. I needed it so bad, I felt the yearning tug at the bottom of my stomach, it coursed through my veins. I swallow thickly, closing my eyes, mustering the courage to voice my thoughts. 

“I wanna kiss you,” I confess, my words cutting through the dead silence of the room. John breathes in sharply through his nose, grabbing the wet belt loops of my jeans, tugging me closer to him. He wraps an arm protectively around my waist. 

“Come here then, hm?” He whispers, leaning in, his lips ghosting over mine. My eyes flutter shut, and a soft gasp leaves my lips. I was so incredibly gone for him, I could barely choke back my groan of approval when John roughly grabs my hips, pulling me further into him. 

I let out a soft huff instead, feeling the tip of his nose ghost along the side of mine, the heat of his breath felt clearly on my cheeks. I feel one of his hands move to cradle the back of my head, I let it loll back into his touch, my hips involuntarily shooting forward as he grips the roots of my hair, tugging slightly. 

This time I couldn’t bear to hold back the soft “Mmm,” that leaves my lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle, pushing our bodies against the far wall, his thigh slotting itself between my trembling legs. He drags his bottom lip softly along my jaw, his touches just barely making contact with my skin, but yet I found myself melting into his touches. 

“Angel,” John coos, pressing soft kisses to my exposed throat. He’d lightly tugged my head backward, leaving more of my neck for him to get at. “God look at you, you’re still shaking,” he whispers, latching his lips to the side of my neck, sucking softly at the skin. 

“We should get these clothes off,” he whispers, coaxing my sweater up, my bare stomach becoming covered in goosebumps once exposed to the air. I shiver, letting out a soft whimper, heat rushing to my cheeks at the sound that had just left my mouth. 

“We’ll get these wet clothes off and start the shower, hm?” John murmurs into the shell of my ear, moving his thigh against me for the first time. I groan, my eyes fluttering closed at the shockwaves of subtle pleasure that course through me. “I’m-I’ll go start the shower,” he whispers, kissing softly along my collarbones, moving his thigh up against me once more. 

I didn’t realize how achingly aroused I’d become until John made that subtle movement, and once he’d started, I couldn’t get enough. I shook my head, “Later. Later, need this now,” I pleaded. 

I leaned in, grabbing the sides of his face, pressing my lips to his, aggressive and passionate. This wasn’t unlike our make-out sessions at the top of the school parking lot, except this was more intense, more needy. I needed this. Now. 

Our teeth hit against one another a few times, John nibbling on my bottom lip. I can’t stop the soft whimpers that leave my mouth as I grind helplessly against John’s thigh. He chuckles softly, hands roaming my body greedily. He doesn’t hesitate to begin pulling my sweater over my head, “Need this off,” he demands. “Need to see you, so fucking pretty,” he groans, tugging the sweater up and over my head. 

I gasp at the cold, arching my back, my head dropping backwards. John groans, “Fuck, honey. Fucking look at you,” he says, moving his hand down my sides, squeezing at my hips. 

I let out another puff of air, pleading with John, making eye contact with him. He’s smirking, watching with complete satisfaction as I rub myself off against his thigh. He’s enjoying this, getting pleasure from watching me helplessly chase bliss. 

“You like watching-you like watching me,” I state breathlessly, watching John kiss along my jaw, moving a strong hand to stroke softly against my outer thigh. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, scraping his teeth down the side of my neck. “I love watching you fall apart,” he whispers into my ear, biting softly at my earlobe before going back to kissing along my neck. 

“Might even let you suck my cock if you’re good and finish yourself off nice for me,” he murmurs, his grip shifting from my hips to my ass, squeezing. I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head. The mere thought of having John in my mouth about made me climax right in his arms, up against the wall in his aunt’s laundry room. 

I’m still shaking, almost violently at this point, teetering on the edge of something that’s so euphoric it’s almost painful. “Are you gonna be good for me? Hm? Are you going to be a good boy for me, Paul?” John’s gravely voice asks, his eyes bearing into mine. 

The mention of my name, the way he said ‘Paul’ makes my heartstrings pull, absolute pleasure racking through every part of my body. In that moment, all of my senses were enveloped in everything John, to the point that it was almost too much. I grunt softly, dying for more pressure where I needed it most. 

“Need more of you, need you, John. N-need you, need you,” I chant, utterly helpless and in desperate need for John’s touch. I whimper, seeing John’s expression change. 

“Need me?” He asks, devilish smirk plastered on his face. John wraps his hands under my thighs, lifting up slightly. Our hips lining up for the first time, I’m made painfully aware of the fact that John needed me, too. 

“Oh, fuck me,” I breathe softly, grinding up against his hardened length. He chuckles darkly, “I don’t think you’re in any shape for that right now, darling,” he whispers, attaching our lips together, shoving his tongue into my mouth, desperately kissing me. 

I moan John’s name, a real and honest to god desperate moan, into the kiss, our hips bumping awkwardly every so often. It didn’t deter John’s fervency, huffing and grinding up against me. “You’re gonna make me mess my trousers like I’m 13 again,” He grunts, gripping my jaw and kissing me again, harsh and bruising. 

“John,” I gasp, my eyes rolling back as John finds a spot on my neck that about makes me see stars. “Holy-“ I choke on the words, cut off by a shockwave of bliss, my stomach tightening up at the way John’s going to work on my body. 

“So fucking good for me,” he murmurs, sucking harder at the spot, surely leaving a mark. “I know you’re close, sugar. Come for me,” he commands, the sheer dominance in his tone of voice sending tremors of satisfaction through my body. 

The orgasm shakes me violently, my legs shaking, my hips snapping spastically as I spill embarrassingly into my trousers. The aftershocks hit me like a ton of bricks and I’m falling limp against John, my head against his shoulders. 

He laughs, softly, his hand rubbing my back softly. “Gonna set you down and finish myself off, okay?” He whispers, kissing the crown of my head. I nod limply, my entire body almost short circuiting, every touch from John on my over-sensitive body made me groan softly. “Did so good for me, pretty,” he whispers, sitting me down against the wall. 

I blink up at him slowly, watching him fumble to get a hand into his pants. He’s probably so used to having people make him orgasm, he probably rarely has to do it himself. I chuckle at that thought, my eyes fixed on John as he slowly works himself to a climax. 

—

After a warm shower, I see that John’s left a sweatshirt of his and a pair of my boxers out for me. I blush, a squeak of excitement escaping my mouth as I hastily dry myself off, picking up the “University of Cambridge” crewneck and slipping it over my head. I grin at the way the navy color looks against my fair skin, relishing in how it fits just right: a little big but not too much. I pulled on the boxers, realizing how cold my feet were. I decide to stop making eyes at myself in the goddamn mirror and go find a pair of socks. 

I exit the bathroom to find John on the bed, freshly showered. He’s wearing a white wife-beater style shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. He’s staring at something on his cellphone, not noticing me until I shut the door, the click of the door handle making his gaze fall to me. 

“Hey,” he grins, examining my outfit. No doubt, any other time the soft pink boxers and navy jumper would have been quite the combo, but right then, it felt right. 

“Looks good on you,” John muses, his shit-eating grin not wavering. I roll my eyes, ignoring the heat in my cheeks. “Come lay, I’ll put a film on,” he pats the space in bed next to him, then motions to the television in the corner of the room. I nod, watching the boy get up to select a tape to pop into the VCR. 

As he’s digging in the drawer underneath the table that holds the television, I realize how strange our relationship is. I mean, I’d just had one of the best orgasms of my short life and I didn’t even know John’s favorite color. I didn’t know his favorite film! I didn’t even know his parents’ names. And it was eating away at me. 

“John,” I say softly, hesitantly, bringing my knees up to my chest. He quickly turns around, dropping the tape in his hand. 

“Yes...?” He replies, his eyes quickly examining me, doing a mental evaluation of what was going on. 

“Could we... is there...” I couldn’t find the words, floundering in the sea of gold I was stuck looking into. Somehow finding the courage, I ask, “What’s your favorite food?” 

John bursts into laughter, clamping a hand over his mouth, “I’m sorry?” He giggles, walking over to me. “You looked so scared i thought I’d done something wrong,” he murmurs, placing a hand on my knee. 

I shake my head, “No, I just- don’t you think it’s a little weird that we’ve almost just had sex and I don’t even know your middle name?” I ask, exasperated as my true thoughts tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. John looks at me, puzzled. 

“Baby, half the time I don’t even know the first names of the people I have sex with,” he says, chuckling. He soothingly rubs my shoulder. I frown, looking down at the bedspread. 

“Never mind. This- this was stupid,” I say, reeling in the fact that John has probably had more one night stands than I had friends. 

“No! Baby... nothing about this is stupid, what’s wrong, love?” He says, climbing into bed and sitting opposite me. 

I shrug again, “I- John I want to get to know you.” I state plainly, leaning my head down to rest my forehead against my knees. 

“Oh.” John murmurs, before saying, “Well, what do you want to know?” 

“Everything,” I reply, and I mean it. 

— 

I didn’t learn everything about John that night, but he did tell me everything I asked. His favorite food is his grandma’s homemade meatloaf. He likes to write songs and play his guitar in his spare time. His favorite album is the “Bleach” album by Nirvana, he thinks that “Nevermind” is good too, but “Bleach” is just better. He likes raspberry jam, but only on toast and not on sandwiches. His favorite color is yellow, but no one often asks and assumes that it’s blue, like most other boys. 

He tells me that he wants a collection of cars someday, like a whole big garage just full of luxury cars, just cause he likes the ones that go fast. John explains that he likes girls, but only sleeps with blondes. He confesses that he’s never felt a great connection to religion and that church bored him, he enjoyed church music and that was all. He says it bothers him that he doesn’t know where we go when we die, and that religion doesn’t bring much comfort, so he mostly avoids it altogether. 

The only questions he skirted around were those about his family. I told him I had a dad and a brother, he explained that he was an only child in return. His parents’ names are Alfred and Julia. I tried to press about his parents, he merely shrugged, “There’s not much to say, they’re rarely home. They don’t care much about me, I think I could die tomorrow and they wouldn’t show up to the funeral,” he says, offhandedly as if it’s the most normal statement ever. 

I frown at that, desperately wanting to know more. But instead, I ask about other things. His favorite film is Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”. He says that he likes horror films, but only the classics. The new ones were either too phony or too bloody. 

I ask about his dream career and he snorts. “If I had it my way: I’d rob my parents, fake my own death, and escape to a small island in Hawaii where it’s just me, my lover, and the music,” he says, relaxed. Again, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I nod, continuing to pick apart his mind. 

By the end of the night, I’m curled into John’s side, his hands are in my hair, and he’s babbling on about his music and art, how he really wants to be a famous artist or musician someday. I grin, my eyelids growing heavy. I loved hearing John talk so exuberantly about something he cares about. 

I yawn and John notices. “Shit, it is late, huh,” he says, trailing fingernails across my scalp. I nod against his chest, nuzzling my nose against him. He chuckles and pulls back the covers for me, getting up to turn the lights off. 

We’re cuddled together softly underneath the covers of the king bed, and I’m teetering on the brink of slumber, when suddenly John says, “Oh. And, it’s Winston by the way.”

“What?” I chuckle, completely confused. 

He laughs, kissing the back of my neck softly, wrapping arms around my middle and pulling me into him. “My middle name,” he says, kissing my neck again, “it’s Winston.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dis chapter took me like 5 hours bc i am a Huge Virgin so i hope u all enjoyed and thanks for reading !! xx <3


	8. come out and play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul encounters some trouble, but realizes something very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so basically for the first time since i outlined this story ,,, i hit a real wall:-( sorry these last couple of updates probably haven’t been so good and im just feeling very not confident about my writing lately :( been kinda overwhelmed by how much everyone loves this n i just don’t wanna disappoint you guys !!! hope you all can forgive me for all that :’) back finally to using my laptop (thank god) anyway ,,, enjoy !

My weekend getaway with John should’ve been everything I wanted to be. Yes, the time spent in the cottage and walking around the seaside was splendid; being cuddled up in blankets with John as he puts another classic horror film in the VCR, incredible; futilely attempting to teach John how to cook anything besides toast, it was a failure, but I enjoyed it nevertheless. After this couple of seemingly short days, I realized how much I liked spending time with him. 

This man wasn’t just your typical heartbreaker, you know, a bad boy that likes women and fast cars. Sure, he did like those things, but I was certain that there was so much more than that. John was a cacophony of a million different puzzle pieces, all so different, yet fitting together perfectly, creating this strangely well-rounded mosaic of a boy who I believe is simply misunderstood. 

He was smart, god the amount of information he could babble on about  _ just _ the renaissance era of art? Incredible. And I swear, you could put this man on Jeopardy with the amount of information he just  _ knew.  _ We’d be talking and he’d just throw in some million dollar word in the middle of his sentence so casually, like anachronism, I couldn’t even begin to tell you where or when that word would be appropriate for use. Yet, John found a way. 

John was funny, and not just because he was so good looking. There are those people who are so unfortunately unfunny, but luckily have the face to make up for it. Not John, He could have had a face made for radio and I still would’ve thought he was hilarious. His little quips about the government, his parents, or his bad habits, all made me giggle, causing him to send me a wink and an award-winning smirk. 

Most of all, John was so incredibly talented, and not just in the bedroom (although he was definitely talented there). Saturday night, I’d spent more than an hour sitting and posing, just for John to sketch me- and undress me with his eyes here and there, but that wasn’t the main point. The sketches were absolutely breathtaking. 

John’s art style was fantastic, every stroke of the pencil seemed to know exactly where to be on the paper. It was almost as if what his eyes were seeing was dumped directly onto the pages, I’d never felt so beautiful. 

And that was another thing about John I couldn’t shake, the way that he made me feel so incredibly... important. Since my mum died, I’d really had to step into my role of being the eldest child. I was sort of like the mum of the house now, doing most of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc., and it didn’t usually bother me. However, it was hard to fill this role at 16, and it was even harder at 14. Some days, all I wanted was for someone to tell me that I was appreciated, that I was worth-while. 

Sure, I understood that the work I was doing was important, and that my father was grateful for having me around. I didn’t feel as though I was being taken for granted, per say, but that didn’t change the fact that John’s constant shower of attention _ felt good _ . I liked being looked after, I liked being the one that gets to be doted on for once. I was a little bit ashamed to admit it to myself, but I relished in how well John treated me. The compliments he gave, the physical affection, and honestly, the fact that he  _ wanted  _ to spend time with me was welcomed with open arms. 

He’d take me to school, pick me up from school, spend time in the library with me at school, he’d eat lunch with me, and when I spoke,  _ he listened.  _ And the more time I spent with John, the more I realized that my friends at Fazakerley didn’t treat me the same. Yes, I was sure that John had eyes for me in some way, but Jane never treated me like this, even when we were dating. And we dated for a long time. 

I’d known John for a matter of months, and he always treated me like I was the most important person in the room, giving me his complete and undivided attention. That was something that people rarely did you know? Treated me like I was the most important person in the room. Even John’s inner-circle seemed to adopt me into their group, allowing me to sit with them at lunch and saying ‘hello’ to me in the hallways. 

It was strange, how even though it was an environment clearly not made for someone like me, I adored being able to attend St. Edward’s. My piano skills were improving, I felt confident in being myself (speaking up in class and all of that rubbish), and honestly, I  _ enjoyed _ going to school. I didn’t dread putting the uniform on every morning, having to do my homework, or even having to interact with the people I went to school with. And I sincerely credited this feeling to John. 

I liked feeling  _ important,  _ I liked feeling  _ wanted,  _ and as time went on I was beginning to realize that this is what it was like to feel  _ loved.  _

And if this is what being loved felt like, I didn’t ever want it to stop. 

— 

Much like anything, our stay in the cottage had to come to an end. My dad would’ve flown off the handle if I missed the noon church service on Sunday. He always reminded me that I had to fulfill my duty in the choir, no matter how I was feeling. He reminded me that it was like “praying twice” when you sing, and that the angels looked forward to hearing my lovely voice every Sunday. 

So, we packed up everything, left the key under the mat, and took off to Church. 

“My parents aren’t home, so normally I wouldn’t be attending the service today,” John explains as he puts a new cassette tape in the player. He’s wearing some of his uncle’s slacks from one of the closets in the cabin, seeing as the slacks that I brought with me to the cabin were ruined by the storm that had hit on Friday night. 

I was panicking about this fact, realising that I had absolutely no way to afford new slacks, let alone new clothes of any kind. But, ever the pacifist, John assured me that he’d get the debacle handled. “We’ll take you to the shops to replace those pants, yeah? They’ve gotten a bit ripped, probably from the wind and rocks and that. But, don’t worry my aunt or I can reimburse you,” He assured me this morning, allowing me to wear a pair of his pants to church and home so that my father wouldn’t notice.

I tried to fight him, promising I would repay him somehow, but John merely kissed my lips softly, explaining that everything would be alright. 

God forbid anything bad happen whilst I was with John, I feared my da (always protective, even sometimes overly so) would no longer allow me to see him. I’d be locked up in the piano room in the house, doomed to practice Liszt until The Royal Jim McCartney decided that I was good enough. 

But, luckily the entire crisis would be handled, thanks to John’s everflowing wealth. 

—

“Nice hickey,” George snickers from beside me, flipping through the yellowed hymnal pages. 

“Fuck,” I chuckle elbowing him playfully in the ribs, picking up a leather bound book to begin marking pages. 

“Relax, it’s just peeking out of your collar,” George says, reaching over and buttoning the top button of my dress shirt. “There, now His Highness, King Jim, won’t notice,” he says, laughing. 

I roll my eyes, gagging and making a fake choking sound, undoing the button George had fastened. “Thanks,” I deadpan, “But I think Lord James McCartney would prefer me alive with a visible hickey than choked to death from trying to hide it.” 

George laughs, “Probably! Then he gets the pleasure of killing you himself,” he says, chuckling and closing the hymnal. 

I roll my eyes, “Oh absolutely. He’d go right for the jugular vein, killing me onsite,” I groan, buttoning my collar back up. 

George entertains me for the rest of the service, making motions to John in the front row, then to my father a few rows back, then me, making a slicing across the neck motion every time. I thanked god that John was too busy staring off into space to notice, and I thanked satan that my dad was too busy staring at the minister to notice. I kept elbowing George to get him to stop, which only resulted in the both of us attempting to hold back our laughter. 

Funny one George is. Although he seems quiet, even quieter than me sometimes, he never fails to miss a chance to make a crude joke. In times like these, when things seemed to be going just a little too well, I always appreciated his humor. I always appreciated George. I needed him more than I let on, and I was thankful to have him.

— 

It wasn’t until Friday that John and I decided to go to the shops. With school, the weekend getaway, and a piano performance coming up, I would’ve had to have been off my face to think my father was going to let me leave the house for anything other than school. But, luckily I convinced him that I needed a new shirt to wear for the recital in the upcoming week. I explained that my best dress shirt was missing a button and that I didn’t want to look scrubby in comparison to all of the other kids from St. Edward’s. 

Reluctantly, my dad gave me like 15 dollars and said, “If you’re not back by eight, you have to take Mikey to that new  _ Beverly Hills Cop _ movie that no one wanted made.” And, for me, that was enough motivation to do as I was asked. 

I quickly called John on the wall phone in the kitchen. 

“So, we’re good to go?” He asks, an excited lilt to his voice. I bite my lip before answering, relishing in the way that John’s voice was extra soft, almost like our trip to the local strip mall was a secret that not even I could know about. 

“Yeah, gotta be home by eight, though,” I reply, dejectedly, playing with the cord connecting the phone to the receiver. Nervous habit. 

“Ah, eight? That’s plenty of time! We might even be able to grab some dinner, and I’ll still have you home by seven forty-five… sharp.” John gloats, I could almost hear his smirk, the soft dimple on his left cheek making itself present, his eyes lighting up, showcasing that mischievous copper color. I feel myself blushing, still, at the mere sound of his voice. It almost slowed my brain down, taking me much longer than it should have to think of a response. 

“Erm… sounds good,” I finally declare, once again going back to winding the cord between my thumb and index finger, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“See you in five,  _ pretty. Ta.”  _ John says, putting some extra grit into the word pretty that makes my stomach flip over. I sigh again, placing the phone back on the hook, resting my forehead against the wall, thinking for a few moments about the small conversation.

“Home. By. Eight.” I hear from directly behind me. I almost jump out of my skin, startled by the close proximity of my father, who was probably standing close enough to me to hear the entirety of John and I’s conversation. I swallow thickly, turning around to face my father, reluctantly looking into his eyes. 

They were the same as mine, droopy and a greenish-brown, but his were hardened by age, back-breaking work, and two rowdy sons. He was looking at me, it felt like he was looking into my soul, his gaze examining me thoroughly. I tried my best to look honest, to not look scared, mostly, but I knew I was squirming.

“Yes, Da.” I say eventually, nodding furiously, hoping that this whole thing would be put to bed if I managed to look extra truthful. 

“Good,” he says, his stern gaze softening, he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go have a good time, Paul. I like John, I think he’s quite a nice young man,” he adds, smiling gently. 

As I slowly register what’s going on, I’m stammering and tripping over my words, trying to figure out a response that is appropriate. An “I- uhm- jeez… thanks, dad,” is finally what I settle on, and I suppose that it’ll have to do because both my dad and I are pulled from this strange, tender moment by a knock at the door.

“John’s here, I think. Go have fun, Jem,” my father says, still wearing the same sweet smile that I so rarely saw. 

“Thanks, Da. Love you,” I reply, enveloping him in a quick hug, something we don’t do often. 

“Love you too,” he whispers, kissing the side of my temple. 

— 

We were about to leave the shops, and honestly I wish we would have. I had way too many things (bought with John’s black, shiny credit card) and I felt content. We’d gotten what I came for, the new pants and my new dress shirt, even grabbed a bite to eat, but John insisted that we stop in one more store to look for a birthday present for someone’s mother (truthfully I was too caught up in the amount of  _ stuff _ I was carrying to really be paying attention). 

It was nearing half seven and I knew I needed to be home, but I was having such a fun time with John I felt that maybe I should relax a bit, enjoy the time out with the boy I was growing to really like (maybe even love? I didn’t know). But, obviously a time as good this, especially after my whirlwind weekend, had to come to an end. 

I saw them, all of them, sitting across the way at the food court. Pete, Jane, Margot, George, and a couple of other kids that I sort of knew from Fazakerley. They were all here, at the mall, without me. They hadn’t even called to see if I had wanted to go. I felt the room get hot, I suddenly became aware of the weight of my shopping bags, aware of the texture of my clothes, and the brightness of the lights. I felt my heart rate speed up, a sense of dread settling into my stomach like a rock.

I was aware of the sound of John talking, but I guess I had begun to tune him out at some point, staring blankly at the group of people I used to call my friends, laughing and talking across the mall. I only tuned back into John when I heard my name. 

“Paul, baby? Earth to doe eyes,” John chuckled, placing a hand against my shoulder. My head snaps back towards him, I squeeze my eyes shut shaking my head, snapping myself out of it. 

“Sorry I-I um…” I trail off, again looking back over at the table. Pete’s obviously telling some outlandish story by the way that Margot is fawning over him and the rest of the group is laughing. 

“Honey, what’s- do you know them?” John asks, the entirety of his demeanor shifting into something more… protective. 

“I-I used to.” I murmur, bitterly, shaking my head again, wincing at how shaky my voice sounded. I couldn’t cry here. I couldn’t. I couldn’t cry in front of John. 

Before John could get another question in, I murmur, “I’ll be right back,” before exiting the store. 

I was going to be friendly. I was going to be civil. I just wanted to know… I just wanted to know why I hadn’t been invited. I could cry later. I could be upset later.

I grimaced at the way their conversation almost muted when I got close to their table. They’d gone from laughing and joking loudly to nearly gawking at me. “H-hey guys!” I said, trying to be cheerful. 

“Oh… uh, hey Paul,” Jane says, looking me dead in the eyes. She was the only one able to really look at me, George was staring at the table, Margot at the ground, and Pete’s gaze merely went right through me. 

“I- um- I was just here with my- um- friend and I wanted to just… say hello…” I stammered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. 

“How nice of you!” Jane says, I can hear the phoniness in her voice, as she furthers, “But, we were just leaving… right guys?” She asks for a consensus, picking up her plate of barely-touched chips. There’s a few soft murmurs of ‘yeahs’ and ‘mhmms’, and once again I’m stammering. 

“Oh- um well- you’ll just have to let me know the next time you guys like go out! I-I miss hanging around with you guys!” I exclaim, digging my nails into my palms, still holding back tears. 

The same soft murmurs of agreement are heard and I look pleadingly at George. He doesn’t look up. 

I turn to leave, exiting with a soft, “See you ‘round,” walking back towards John in the nearby store. 

“Oh my god that was painful,” I hear Pete say, just a little too loudly. I stop, turning to look over my shoulder at the group, and suddenly I can’t help myself. 

“Why was it painful Pete, hm? Can you please explain that to me, cause I was just trying to  _ talk to you guys.  _ But apparently, you guys don’t do that anymore,” I say, hearing my voice waver, it was exceedingly obvious I was holding back tears. “Why- why don’t you guys ever…?”

I’m cut off by Pete slamming an open palm on the table, “Cause you’re one of them now, Paul!” He nearly shouts, I flinch at his tone. 

“But I’m not!” I stammer, my fists clenched so tightly I can practically feel my nails splitting open my palm. 

“It’s not that we don’t like you Paul, you just- you don’t belong with us anymore! You’re rarely around and when you are you’re- you’re with them!” Jane tries desperately to diffuse the situation. I try to say something, but Pete butts in. 

“Don’t you get it? You are not one of us anymore. Your rich fucking little boytoy is waiting right over there! Yes… the one wearing those expensive clothes, and he’s here with you! Don’t lie and say you wouldn’t bring ‘im around. Look… when he dumps you then you can call us...” Pete sneers, getting up from the table. 

Before he can get too close, I turn and walk swiftly away, ignoring the calls from George and Margot. 

The last thing I hear before entering the store is a desperate, “Macca! Wait!” From George, but I’m already gone. The tears are flowing and I’m desperate to leave. 

“John! John we n-need to go, _ now _ .” I whimper, violently wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. 

“Okay. Okay, let’s go, honey. You’re okay, it’s alright, pretty,” John soothes, keys already in his right hand. His left hand quickly grabs mine, our fingers interlacing. “It’s gonna be alright, my love,” he promises, guiding us out to his car, thankfully not asking for details on the matter. 

—

I get home a mess of tears, watching as John tries to explain to my father what happened with my friends from Fazakerley. But I can’t bear to listen, I’m running upstairs, collapsing in a heap on my bed, tears mixing with mucus and probably drool (hot, I know). 

John ends up leaving after about thirty minutes, my dad informs me later once I’m downstairs, having decompressed. He’s made me a warm cup of tea, explaining that he didn’t want John to follow me, understanding I often needed to be alone in situations like these. He tells me that John replied that he’d be fine waiting a while, but got a call on his phone and had to leave. He’d apparently said something about having to pick up his parents from the airport, asking my dad to tell me that he’d call later. I nodded, sipping my tea. 

I wanted to explain everything to my dad, but I couldn’t be bothered at that moment. The only person I really wanted to talk to was John, which is why I was so willing to dart to the phone and pick it up when it rang that night around 10 p.m. 

“Hi John,” I said softly, confidently, ready to hear his comforting voice. 

“Oh uhm… Macca it’s me,” George’s soft drawl comes through the speaker. 

“I don’t much feel like talking to you, Geo,” I say, truthfully, feeling the bottom of my stomach clench up again. Dread. 

“I-I understand I thought I’d just… I just wanted to check on ye,” he mumbles, his syllables as sluggish as usual, but I could hear there was truth behind them. I bite the inside of my cheek. 

“You didn’t- George you didn’t say anything! Pete was up in me face and ye didn’t do anything!” I whimper, feeling my face scrunch up with the anticipation of the ugly tears that were about to resurface. 

“Macca! I couldn’t… not when they're kinda right! You’re parading around with the son of a guy who owns the asses of all of our parents! Obviously not everyone is gonna be too pleased,” George argues back defensively. 

“John’s nice to me I-“ I stammer, but George cuts me off. 

“Yeah but how long’s he gonna be nice to ye for? Haven’t ye noticed the pattern, Macca? If I were ye, I’d focus on school and that scholarship you’re there for. That’s what matters!” He’s nearly shouting now. Hearing George so worked up really startled me, but didn’t help the pain that these words delivered. This conversation was like pouring salt into an open wound. 

“Geo why- why can’t you just be happy for me?” I say, feeling a quiet sob wrack my body. I couldn’t hold it back any longer, feeling everything come crashing down all at once. 

“Look I talked to Amber about ‘im. He’s a bad guy,  _ Paul _ .” George presses, I can hear the discontent in his voice. 

“So you’re gonna trust some girl you met at  _ John’s party _ over  _ me _ ?” I ask, genuinely offended, sniffling softly, biting my lip to hold back another wave of sobs. 

“Paul…” George begins, “We’ve been dating since then... it’ll be three months in a week...” he finishes, my mouth drops open. I have so many questions, my mind is reeling in a sick attempt to gather all of this information. 

“Why don’t I ever- I’m so- I still don’t understand-“ I murmur, trying my best to put the pieces together. 

“Because that’s bleeding John _Lennon_.... don’t you get it? God you’re so stupid and fucking self-centered sometimes, McCartney. He’s gonna _drop_ you just like he drops everyone else!! It’s _not_ _hard_ to see. Come on,” George cries, his voice cracking at the end of his statement. 

“He wouldn’t! We-wespent the weekend together!” I stammer. 

“Oh and what? You expect him to drop everything for you? He’s got a girlfriend, Paul. You’ll just be a side piece until he gets bored! That’s how people like John work.” He huffs, I can hear how frustrated he is. 

“Geo- thanks for calling- I’m gonna hang up now,” I whimper, feeling white-hot tears stream down my face.

“Paul, don’t- Macca!” George shouts, but I hang up the phone, slumping down the wall in the kitchen, placing my head on my knees. 

I feel myself reduced to tears, once again, my head cradled in my arms. My dad approaches me, bending down, placing a hand on my back. He asks if there’s anything that he can do for me, and I simply shake my head no. 

“I-I just want… Da, I really just want John here,” I choke out, looking up at him. 

“If… kid, if he’ll come pick you up, you can go to spend time with him. He can even…” my dad pauses, weighing his options. “You guys can even watch films on the couch, whatever you need,” he says, obviously sensing the grief I was feeling. 

“Thank you,” I blubber, wiping my nose with my sleeve. My dad chuckles, wiping away some of my tears with a calloused thumb. 

“Call your boy,” he instructs, standing up to grab the phone off the hook before leaving the kitchen. 

I quickly dial the number I’ve easily memorized over the months, waiting for it to ring. 

“Hello, this is John,” John’s melodic voice crackles through my speakers. I hold back a choked sob, but a soft whimper escapes anyway. I bite my knuckle, trying to hold the rest of it in, not wanting to alarm John too much. 

“H-hi John, it’s-“ I can't even get through the sentence, a gasp cutting me off as another wave of tears wracks my body. I’m so pathetic. 

“Oh love,” John responds, empathy heavily coating his words. In that moment, I felt like he understood and that he could feel the pain, that he could feel the ache in my chest. 

“J-John I don’t understand-” I sob, quiet, heaving sobs that you feel down into your bones. Friends that I’d had since grade one, gone. 

“Shh, oh god lovey you’re gonna make yourself sick. What can I do to help? What can I do to make this all better,” he quickly eases, trying to alleviate my hurt, trying to make me feel better. 

“I-I don’t know! Just wanna see you please. Want-want you to hold me.” I beg, my voice terribly wobbly. I hear John sigh on the other side of the line, and suddenly the world seems to stop turning. 

_ What if George was right? What if I was being annoying? What if John only wanted to use me? Was he using me for sex? Did he care at all? Did those clothes he bought mean anything? Did any of this even matter? Did he- _

“God it hurts me baby, seeing you sad.” He murmurs, his soft drawl wrapping me in a comfort that I had never felt before. “I’ll be over in ten, wait for me okay? I’ll be right there, my love,” he promises and I can hear him grabbing something, then the jingle of keys. 

“O-okay,” I sniffle, taking a deep breath. 

“I’ll be there soon, angel. I’ll drive extra fast,” he says softly chuckling.

He hangs up the phone and it was only then that I realized I’d been resisting the urge to say, “I love you,” that entire time. And now was probably the worst time in the history of the world to realize it, but I think that I did… or I was nearly there. 

I was falling in love with John Lennon. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh:-) next chapters a BIG one (with lots of sexual content just a heads up) and I can’t wait to write it for all of you !! hope you enjoyed !! stay tuned x


	9. bad guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul questions everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeello everyone !! i hope u enjoy this ,,, worked v hard on it while in the public library today so do with that information what u will after reading this chapter !! finished it at home when i thought someone was trying to break into my house lol anyway i hope you enjoy this even tho its unedited n nearly 3 am ! shout out kaylee loml as usual for pushing me to finish this gosh dang book ! sorry if this chapter is unsexy , i am not a sexy person in any way shape or form but uh yes ,,, enjoy <33 xx

After speaking with George, I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach. This man, John, was someone I was falling for, and that was the truth. But about all of those other things that George said, like the fact that he was just going to use me until he got bored. I needed to know if that, the strange amount of pieces that just didn’t fit together, was the truth. 

I couldn’t help but wonder if there really was a pattern to John’s mysterious string of lovers. I never really asked, the thought making me feel lightheaded, but I wanted to know who he’d been with. Being two years ahead of me I figured he had some experience, but with the way that people at St. Edward’s speak about him, I wasn’t sure of the exact amount of those he’d slept with in the past. How many was “a lot”? Ten? Thirty? Fifty? How was I to know? I felt like it would be overstepping to just ask. 

But, I guess that I noticed the fact that the more time that John and I spent together, the less that I was seeing of Stu. Frankly, since the party, I hadn’t seen him around much. He was usually with Ringo and John, or just Ringo, but never with John, alone. Maybe he’d never been with John in the first place. Maybe Amber had made the whole thing up. Maybe she was one of John’s past companions. I mean, I had come to notice the strangely cordial relationship between Cynthia and Amber. Is that because of some kind of break up? Was she jealous of Cynthia? 

_ Was she jealous of me _ ? She was so stunning, there’s no way that someone like her could possibly be jealous of someone like me. She had everything I didn’t, what more could John want. She couldn’t have been jealous of me. 

But how was I supposed to be sure?

And George mentioned him having a girlfriend. Yet, the last time that I asked about Cynthia, John made it a point to prove that she wasn’t too important. He had his tongue down my throat in a piano practice room at St. Edward’s, pulling violently at my clothes, probably close to tearing the belt loops on my trousers. I remember gasping for breath as he loosened my tie, asking frantically, “What about Cynthia?”

To which John kissed my neck softly, sweetly, only responding, “What  _ about  _ Cyn? She’s not here is she?” And, I guess that answer was good enough for me in that moment, because since then I guess that I had equated the couple to something that wasn’t too serious. This was probably especially due to the fact that John couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of me. He had to like me… I had to be worth at least  _ something  _ to him… right?

I was so deep in this whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that I’d almost forgotten that John was coming over, until I heard a faint knocking at the front door. I struggled to my feet, almost tripping over myself walking to get the door, seeing as my legs had gone numb from being slumped against the wall in the kitchen for such an extended period of time. “Coming,” I called out weakly, my voice scratchy from crying for the past god knows how long. 

I opened the door, seeing John standing on the welcome mat, dressed in a leather jacket, a flannel underneath, which hung open over a baggy tee shirt tucked into a pair of distressed black jeans. I noted the small backpack slung across his back, it was made of leather. His trainers were concerningly dirty, probably still muddy from the weekend away at the cottage, and his hair was ruffled, probably from driving with the top down on his car. But despite the messy look of his ensemble, I was sure that the tee shirt he was wearing was worth more than the entirety of a basic outfit from my closet.

“Sorry that took me so long,” he apologizes, placing a soft hand against my jaw. “Couldn’t shake my ma. She wanted to talk for some goddamn reason,” he scoffs, shaking his head and leaning in. “I told her I had more important things to attend to,” He whispers, softly placing his lips against mine. His lips are chapped as usual, and his nose brushes mine, it’s cold from having been outside, but despite the chill resting on his skin, the kiss is warm and inviting. 

I hum, placing a few more chaste kisses on John’s lips, relishing in the way that John’s strong hands cup my cheeks, the touch so gentle. 

For someone who could supposedly be so rough, so mean, so controlling, the fact that John could treat me this way seemed to contradict every bad thing I had heard. I didn’t understand the idea that a boy that never failed to make me feel practically like a king, could possibly be a bad person. Sure, he had some rockiness in his past, and I wasn’t completely naive to the idea that John had a temper and various other flaws, but to say that he was a bad guy all in all? I just could not see it.

And honestly, I knew I was probably a glutton for punishment, but at this point I was in so deep. I had dug myself into a hole so deep, sold my soul to something so powerful, that at this point, there was no turning back. I was  _ so in love _ with John. 

He pulls away from me, grinning and breathing heavily through his nose. He bites his bottom lip, still positively beaming at me, leaning back in to kiss both of my cheeks, his hands still planted, unmoving on the sides of my face. I feel a rush of blood flow to my cheeks, coating them in an obvious blush. I sigh, blinking up at him, I could feel the soft grin plastered on my face. I wasn’t embarrassed anymore, no longer squirming under John’s gaze like I used to. 

“Thanks for coming,” I murmur, not breaking eye contact. I take a few mental pictures of this moment, John’s eyes blazing a warm, charming gold. He’s smiling, the lone dimple appearing in his left cheek, the crinkles at the sides of his eyes presenting themselves. I notice the soft dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks, no doubt faded from the lack of sunshine that comes with the progression of the season of autumn. 

“It was the least I could do, especially after everything that happened today,” He hums, finally removing his hands from my cheeks, opting to put move his grip to my waist instead. “Tears me up, honey,” he spits, angrily, shaking his head. “They’re off their faces if they think they can just… talk to you like that,” John continues, squeezing my waist, running the tip of his nose along mine. 

“It’s… it’s alright, John,” I promise. As soon as the words leave my lips, his grip on my hips is loosening, and I’m leaning into his touch, relishing in the way that his presence seemed to almost alleviate the aching in my bones completely. When John was around, he stole the entirety of my attention, and I couldn’t find it within myself to even think about anything other than Him.

“Say, what are we even doing tonight,  _ sweetheart _ ?” He asks, kissing the tip of my nose and slipping his hands into mine. I shrug, pulling him towards our small living-room. 

“Da said you can spend the night, and suggested we watch a movie…” I trail off, watching John as he sets his small overnight bag against the arm rest, proceeding to strip off his leather jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch. 

“That sounds good,” he says, smirking, as I watch him take off his outerwear (probably a little too closely, admittedly). He grins, proudly, biting his lip and looking at me. 

I look away quickly, embarrassed that John had caught me admiring his beauty, unfortunately caught up in the simple way that he removed a jacket. “Sorry,” I murmur, chuckling nervously at how obnoxious I am.

John just laughs, sitting down on the couch. He was too goddamn handsome for his own good. Instead of marinating more on the awkwardness, I decide to busy myself with picking out a movie from the small amount of VHS tapes in a basket next to the television. “We don’t have a huge selection, but…” I explain, picking a few off of the top of the stack. “Do you want to watch like... “ I begin, but John interrupts. 

“Tonight’s about you, angel,” he explains, putting his hands over his eyes, so as not to peek, then insisting quickly, “You pick! Your choice!” He then bites his lip and adds, “Wait, but no chick flicks.” I snort, tossing two of the three back into the basket. 

“That’s practically all we have,” I chuckle, digging back into the basket. John makes a strangled scoffing sound. 

“Oh god no! Please not Pretty Woman! Or Pretty in Pink!” John laughs, I look back at him, writhing about wildly on the couch. “They’re my weakness, Bambi. A chick flick will  _ kill me _ .” He groans, falling back against the couch, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. I roll my eyes. 

“Alright! Alright!” I say, laughing, before picking up a movie. “Sixteen Candles it is, then,” I giggle, popping open the case.

“ _ No!  _ God, baby! Anything but  _ Sixteen Fucking Candles,”  _ John begs, clamoring off the couch, getting onto his knees and folding his hands into a prayer position. “Please!  _ Anything else, _ ” He gasps, shaking his prayer clenched hands in my direction. 

“Oh please,” I tease, before pulling _ Top Gun _ from the pile and showing it to John. “Is this an adequate movie for your liking,  _ Sir?”  _ I gibe, sarcastically, waving the movie in front of his face. He makes a messy sign of the cross before looking upwards.

“Yes, yes that is perfect. Yes,” he says, breathlessly, before murmuring a hushed, “Thank you baby Jesus.” 

I snort. “And  _ I’m  _ dramatic…” I murmur, chuckling softly putting the tape in the VCR, moving back to the couch, remote in hand. 

“Oh god, you know I’m just messing,” John promises, kissing the crown of my head as soon as I sit down.

__

I couldn’t understand why John had been so adamant about the fact that he would not watch a chick flick, he was practically dead to the world with his head in my lap after a mere 25 minutes of _ Top Gun _ . I roll my eyes, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was nearing quarter past ten, and I had no interest in finishing this movie. I reached for the remote, careful not to move too much as to wake John. I turned the volume on the television down, tossing the remote, and leaning my head back against the back of the couch.

I couldn’t help but let my mind go wild, although John did a lot to mitigate certain feelings of dread I was feeling, now that he was asleep, I was left to think again about the events that happened today. 

First, it was all of the stuff that George said, about the Lennons and them owning the asses of half the people in liverpool. Yeah, sure, I understood that. The Lennon family had a hand in most dealings that every hard-labor company was involved in, but that wasn’t John’s fault! And just because he was their son didn’t mean that he was like them. For fucks sake, I hadn’t seen John’s parents  _ once _ since I’d known him and it was late November. They hadn’t even been home for John’s birthday in early October. How could they possibly have any impact on the person that he’s become? 

Then, I began replaying my interaction with Pete over and over in my head. Was there something I’d done? What made him snap at me like that? Did he really think that I was becoming like these kids that go to St. Edward’s? Did the rest of the group think that, too?

The more I thought about it, though, I came to realize that the idea of becoming like John and the rest of his friends… it wouldn’t be so bad. They were all really wonderful. Privileged? Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that they were  _ nice.  _ I never had a sour interaction with Ringo, Stu, or anyone John crossed paths with. Even Cynthia had come around some! And from what I’ve seen, she treats everyone else, extremely well (everyone else besides me… probably because she hates my guts… I don’t really blame her). It wasn’t these kids’ choice to go to a nice school and have a lot of money! 

I covered my face with a hand.  _ Maybe I was becoming like them.  _

“Why are you thinking so hard, hm?” John whispers, rolling onto his back, his head still resting securely in my lap. I groan, looking down at him, shrugging.

“Can’t help it,” I huff, moving a hand down to play with a couple of John’s curls that had fallen onto his forehead. “Just… you know- like- everything that happened today?” I grumble, shrugging, not really knowing how to encapsulate the point that I was trying to get across. There was so much to the events that had happened earlier in the day that I couldn’t even begin to explain all of the things rolling around in my brain.

“Hey,” John says, reaching up and grabbing my hand that was playing in his hair. He interlaces our fingers, looking up at me, making intentional eye contact. “Everything that happened today? That’s over now. And those assholes from your old school? They are  _ so _ not cool enough for you,” John assures me, bringing the back of my hand to his lips. He places a couple of soft kisses to my knuckles, squeezing my hand softly. I turn my head away from him, his stare feeling too intense, too honest.

“Thank you, John…” I pause, debating whether to completely unload everything that George had said to me on the phone. I shake my head, deciding against it for the time being, looking down again. He’s still giving me the same look: honesty. 

I realized in that moment that I was avoiding asking John about everything. I was so  _ scared _ of his honestly. He’d always been so incredibly, brutally honest, at least it seemed to me that way. I was scared of his truth, scared of the kind of answer that I would get when I confronted him about what George had said to me on the phone. 

“You don’t have to tell me- I get that you might not want to- but, Paul, love, I want to be there for you,” John pleads, his eyebrows knitting together. “I just, seeing you like this… Paul, I just care about you,” He confesses, frowning, John’s thumb rubbing soothingly across the back of my hand. 

“George said…” I bite my lip, feeling the strange ache of sadness return to my chest. I didn’t want to start crying again, the weight of what George had said felt like it was crushing my ribcage. “George said that you were gonna get bored of me- that you were gonna get bored of me after we started- you know- after we started having sex… I mean if you even want to have sex… God, I don’t know,” I stutter out, not being able to meet John’s eyes, attempting to blink back the rush of tears that made themselves painfully present. 

I feel John sit up, quickly, removing himself from my lap. My mind darts to the worst, initially, until I feel John’s arms wrap around my midsection as he pulls me into his lap. He quickly brings a gentle hand up to the side of my head, bringing the crown of my head down to his lips. “I’d- good  _ God,” _ he murmurs. “I… I don’t even know what to say, Paul. I can not believe he fucking said that,” John grumbles. “You are,  _ undoubtedly, _ the most important thing to me, angel. You think that I treat just anyone like I treat you, Paul?” John asks, leaning in close.

“How could he even make you think, even for a second, that you weren’t… God, I thought I made it  _ abundantly clear,”  _ John almost growls, pressing soft kisses to the back and sides of my neck. He pauses, reaching a hand up to softly wipe the tear tracks off of my cheeks. “Baby, I thought I made it clear that you were mine. I thought everyone could see it,” he murmurs, softly touching my jaw with his hand, moving my face towards his. 

“But you haven’t… we haven’t…” I whisper, John’s face mere centimeters from mine, the tips of our noses nearly touching. John huffs at my statement, pulling back slightly. 

“Because rushing into sex has made all of my other relationships  _ so great _ ,” John taunts, sarcastically, rubbing the tip of his nose against mine. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips.

“I wanted to take it slow, I wanted to get to know you,” John confesses, grinning and kissing my cheek. 

“But now you do,” I insist, before murmuring, “And, John I want you.” 

I find myself blushing, looking away from John’s eyes, they immediately flashed that familiar hunger in them, a predatory sensation that I hadn’t felt on me for a long time. Once those words left my lips, it was like I was seeing John for the first time. Sure, there were lustful glances we had shared every now and again, but this, this was like when he first met me, it was greedy and protective.

I welcomed the familiar burning sensation in the pit of my stomach that came along with the darkening eyes of John. There was lust and arousal and all of a sudden we were all over each other. His mouth was on mine, aggressive and domineering. John took control of everything, so easily, and at a certain point it felt like I’d given up completely. I was putty in John’s goddamn hands. 

John’s hands found their way underneath my tee-shirt, the coldness of his fingertips making goosebumps rise on my skin. “Want to have you in my mouth,” he whispers into my ear, tongue darting out and traveling along the shell of my ear before he begins to nibble at my earlobe, pulling the hem of my shirt up. 

“Want you to cum, and I want to know it was ‘cause of me,” John grunts into my ear, breathlessly. I didn’t really realize I was holding my breath until I was gasping, nodding frantically in agreement to John’s proposition. 

“Wanna see your eyes roll back, like they did at the cabin,” He whispers, grabbing at my jaw and bringing my lips down to his, kissing me again. I feel a soft groan of pleasure escape through my open mouth as John and I’s hips rock together. I grab at the back of his head, tangling my fingers in the soft curls, reveling in the feeling of John’s tongue in my mouth and how breathless I was becoming. Lust and arousal hung heavy in the room and I couldn’t help the soft whimpers that left my mouth everytime I felt John’s hardened length brush against mine. 

I’m trying to catch my breath, get John’s flannel off, and not cum right there from John relentlessly kissing my lips and neck, when John stops moving. “We should take this to your room,” He whispers, out of breath, but still moving back in to kiss me again anyway. 

I nod, yet found myself wrapping my legs around his waist and arms around his neck. I deepen the kiss further, not being able to get enough of the way he tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth, or the way his tongue brushed against mine. I let out a yelp of surprise when I felt John’s strong grip underneath of my thighs. 

I shook my head as John stood up, I was wrapped around him like a monkey clinging to a fucking tree. “John!” I squeak out, astonished that he could even stand up holding me like this. It all felt incredibly stupid and unsexy for me, my legs wrapped around his midsection, arms resting atop his shoulders, head in the crook of his neck. 

“Shh,” he whispers, kissing the crown of my head, “Just want to give you what you  _ need _ ,” He hums. “I want you to let me do this for you. Put away your pride for just a second, my love. Let me please you,” John pleads, his voice gravelly with want. 

He’s breathing heavily as he pushes the door to my small bedroom open with his foot, but whether that’s from my weight or arousal I couldn’t say. I noted, delighted in rather, the fact that I could still feel how hard he was against my hip, and hoped that the mood hadn’t been ruined. Was everyone’s first time this... strange? I shouldn’t have been self-conscious, but here I was… feeling self-conscious. 

As soon as we’re in through the door, he’s kicked it closed with this foot again, setting me down gently on the bed. “ _ I want you _ ,” He whispers, and the feeling of insecurity fades, replaced with the searing feelings of arousal that coursed through my veins with that simple phrase. 

“I want you, too, John. So  _ fucking bad _ ,” I whimper, bringing my hands up to the sides of his face, leaning up and bringing my lips to his. “Wanted you since I first saw you,” I mumble into our kiss, fumbling now to get clothes off.

Stripped down to boxer shorts, I can’t help but admire the boy that’s on his knees in front of me. He was handsome, that was for sure, his strong jaw and roman nose making themselves ever-present, even in a room illuminated only by the street-lamp outside. But I began taking in the beauty of his other features, noticing the freckles present on the tops of his shoulders and chest. In fact, most of John’s body was covered in a light smattering of freckles, the tops of his thighs, his upper arms, his collar bones, everything blanketed in a dusting of freckles. 

I noted how strong his hands were as they tugged at the band of my boxers, his fingers long and skilled from playing the guitar. John looks up at me, pleading. I nod, taking great pleasure in the way that he sucked in his bottom lip, before I lift my hips to allow him to pull my boxers down. I hear him breathe in hard through his nose, trying not to get embarrassed at how painfully hard I am, my cock laying heavily against my lower stomach. 

“So pretty, angel. Just as pretty as the rest of you,  _ fuck _ ,” John groans, sitting up on his knees and wrapping his hands around my length. I whimper, involuntarily bucking upwards into John’s touch as he starts to work his hands up and down my cock. He looked so good, his hands practically working magic, I was melting into a puddle at the hands of John Lennon and he hadn’t even put his mouth on me yet. 

My hands grip the bed sheets tightly as the flat of John’s tongue works around the underside of my arousal. I whimper softly, John looks up at me, asking, “You alright, pretty?” His voice is raspy with lust and I simply nod, my head falling backward from the sensation of it all. 

Finally, he wraps his lips around my tip before beginning to bob his head. I can’t help the choked moan of John’s name that leaves my lips as John’s mouth works in positively sinful ways, his tongue grazing against the underside of my cock, pleasure coursing through my veins in jolts. I can’t help the fact that my hands fly into John’s curls, trying my best to not grip too tightly, but the more my stomach clenches, the tighter I grasp. I couldn’t help the fact that my hips bucked up the slightest bit into John’s mouth, he gags slightly, humming around the length of my shaft, before proceeding.

I feel my eyelids getting heavy from the pleasure of it all, my eyes rolling back, but I try to fight it. I don’t want to look away, I don’t want to waste a sight as beautiful as this one. John Lennon kneeling in front of me, hands caressing my inner thighs, a mess of curls falling into his face, thin lips stretched around my throbbing cock, moving his head up and down. I was in awe, my legs shaking slightly, my cock aching for release, I was so close. 

John pulls off to take a breath, one of his hands still working around my length, a string of saliva hanging from his lips affixed to the head of my cock. His thin lips were obscenely red and slightly swollen: fucking stunning. I was teetering on the edge of bliss, and the sight of this powerful, domineering man on his knees for me, was damn near enough to make me spill into his hand. 

I cry out as he runs his thumb along my slit, more precum spilling down the side of my shaft. “I can tell you’re close, my love,” he says, looking up at me. His eyes are glassy, and I notice the remnants of possible tear tracks from his eyes watering, his voice is fucked out, and I notice the way that he’s sped up his hand. 

I mumble, “So close,  _ John _ ,” his name slipping itself onto the ends of all of my phrases, securing the fact that only he could make me feel this way. John holds eye contact with me, proceeding to drop his mouth back down onto my cock, humming around my tip before lowering his mouth the rest of the way down. He bobs his head a few more times and I feel it. 

The orgasm hits me like a ton of bricks and I barely have time to warn John. “Oh- hmm- John I-” is the pathetic whine that leaves my lips before I’m spilling into John’s mouth. I watch his eyes shut as he leans back on his heels, breathing heavily through his nose. 

I fall back on the bed, chest heaving, and I feel John pull off of me. I quickly sat up, realizing I wanted to finish him off. I wanted John to have as good of an orgasm as I did. 

“No, no. Lay back down, sweetheart,” John coos, his voice incredibly raspy. I go to protest, but then notice he’s gone to wiping the inside of his thigh with the pair of my boxers he’d discarded across the room. 

“Did you… erm… finish?” I ask, blushing at the thought that I could’ve possibly just made John Winston Lennon cream his own boxers from giving me a blowjob. That couldn’t have been it though, could it? 

“What do you think, pretty? I’ve got jizz running down my leg,” he snorts, tossing the boxers back down on the floor. 

“I-I made you…?” I ask, biting my lip, anxiously, blushing even harder than before. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he laughs hoarsely, walking over to me. “Most guys think I don’t give head ‘cause I’m not into giving them pleasure, but  _ fuck.  _ I swear… it just… I like doing it okay? It makes me feel… so good!” He practically shouts. “But it’s embarrassing!” He exclaims, placing a soft kiss to the end of my nose. “A dude with a bodycount as high as mine shouldn’t cum untouched from giving a fucking blowjob,” He furthers, his voice cracking. 

I shake my head, grinning. “John, you are so fucking hot.” I murmur, wrapping my arms around his neck and pecking his lips softly. “And what asshole would fucking complain if you got off to giving head?” I ask, dumbfounded. 

John shrugs, beaming at me, his eyes glowing with a warmth that I never wanted to fade. 

__

Luckily, John and I woke up before my father. I insisted that we do our best to be getting dressed and ready for church, knowing that my dad would insist that John accompany us. I tell him that I’m going to have a shower and get ready, you know, get on my proper choir garb and all of that nonsense. 

I came back from the bathroom to find John speaking to someone on his cellphone. I can hear the person on the other side of the line was shouting, their voice was deep, demanding, and unfamiliar. I frown, walking over to sit on John’s lap, kissing his forehead and nose a few times before continuing to get ready. The phone call continues, with John rarely getting so much as a ‘yes, sir’ or an ‘I understand’ in. I didn’t want to pry, but there was clear tension in John’s shoulders, and it killed me to just sit there and watch this happen. 

But, right as I got the courage to say something, John says, “I’ll see you at church, Dad,” into the phone before flipping it closed. 

“Everything okay?” I ask, walking over to John. He merely nods, shrugging. 

“It was nothing, I’m gonna go use the toilet, okay?” he replies, kissing me softly before exiting my bedroom. 

I only amassed more questions once I arrived at church, walking over to the choir. Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that most of the people that I knew were looking at me like I had grown a second head. I do my best to act as normal and cheery as possible, but it’s hard when everyone’s staring at you! Was there something on my face? I hoped not.

I walk over to my usual seat, noting the fact that George still chose to sit in the seat next to mine. He could’ve moved somewhere else in the tenor section, but didn’t. I begin bookmarking pages as usual, when I finally get a good look at George.

The entire right side of his face is horribly beat up, his eye swollen practically shut, his cheek puffy and beginning to turn blue. “Holy mother-” I whisper, my gaze softening as I sit down to be level with George. 

“Geo, what the hell happened?” I whisper, my mind racing a mile per second, worry flooding my brain. George and I might not be on good terms at the moment, but it didn’t change the fact that I still cared about him. We were basically brothers, and brothers fight sometimes. It’s just the way that things are. I’d definitely cooled off about the whole situation after a good night’s sleep. Now, my anger was replaced swiftly with worry.

“I got beat up, what the fuck does it look like?” He hisses, bitterly, aggressively flipping the page of the hymnal. 

“Well… I- I can see that! Where were you? When did it happen? How-?” I ask, I have a million questions that I need answered, but we have very little time. 

George chuckles darkly, “Oh gee, I dunno. Why don’t you ask that sugar daddy of yours how I came to look like this, hm?” George motions to John sitting in the front pew, then to his own face.

I frown, but John was with me last night? How could he have anything to do with the fact that the entire right side of George’s face looked like a Van Gogh painting? But, before I can ask any more questions, the organ starts to play and the choir has to stand to sing the opening hymn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you thank you thank you all so much for taking time to read and sorry it was unedited ! next chapter should be up within the next few days !


	10. hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul have less conversations, but more sex, than probably necessarry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout kaylee for yelling at me until i finished this chapter !! sorry if it’s bad :-(( once again, it’s unedited n i am the least sexy person on the face of the planet lol ,, anyway enjoy ! SORRY ITS SO DANG LONG and to my wonderful reader who asked if John the Rat-Bastard was going to break John’s heart ,,, the answer may be making itself clear soon hehe,,,” thank you all for reading i love u all so so much

I’ve gone restless, the rest of Sunday’s service passing by in a blur. I can’t even remember if I’d sung at all. My head was spinning, almost as if someone had knocked me upside the head with something blunt and heavy. George’s words were ringing in my ears, replaying over and over. After everything I’d been dragged through in the past few days, it would be just like the Universe to make John do something as stupid as attack one of my closest friends. 

I drop basically everything and speed-walk towards the parking lot after the service ends, ignoring the usual people that I’m forced to converse with after. I knew John was the type to duck out before the closing hymn ended, so I’d have to work quickly to be able to confront him in person. This was not a matter that I could handle over the phone. I needed the truth. I wouldn’t be strung along by someone who uses my mates as punching bags, no matter whether I’m on good terms with them or not. 

I pass the little old ladies selling some kind of cookie mix for the holiday season in the lobby, I send them a weak wave, hoping they wouldn’t stop me. They nod in my direction, shouting something about how wonderfully I sang, and I reply with a rushed, “Thank you, god bless!” 

I end up slamming into, almost knocking down, one of the younger girls from Fazakerley High who George always insisted had a massive crush on me. I didn’t have time to deal with her right now, but luck seemed to be absent in this moment. “Hi, Paul,” she murmurs, blushing furiously at the awkwardness of the situation. 

I sigh, trying to side-step her, “Hello, Dot.” However, she moves with me, not allowing me to reach the exit of the church. 

“Why in such a hurry?” She asks, her eyes playful. I groan, spotting John over Dot’s shoulder in his usual charcoal grey suit walking down the church steps with his keys in hand. I put my hands on her shoulders, moving her to the side, pushing open the doors of the church. 

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time right now, but… I’ll- I’ll see you ‘round,” I rush out, waving in her direction hurriedly before turning to pick up the pace towards John. I didn’t feel too badly about the incident, politeness was not a nicety I possessed at the moment.

I see him weaving through the cars in the lot, trying to get to his ridiculously expensive convertible. It wasn’t hard to miss, it was cherry red and somehow always clean. I make a beeline for the car, hoping to catch up to John before he can speed away.

“John!” I shout, watching him open the driver’s side door, hoping to catch his attention. His head snaps towards me, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

“Hi,  _ doe eyes _ ,” He beams, his eyes crinkling up at the sides, his attitude bright. I groan, the fire within my chest that originally sent me to confront John was slowly simmering.  _ No. I was here for answers, not to let John coddle me.  _

“I need answers,” I state, frustratedly, folding my arms across my chest. John’s head cocks to the side, his smirk never faltering as he reaches out a hand to place it lovingly on my shoulder. 

“And why is that, my love?” he soothes, smoothing his thumb across the collar of my button up. My brows furrow, attempting to keep my aura of firmness, I wouldn’t let John’s silver tongue do me dirty this time. 

“John, did you see George’s fucking face?” I nearly scream, so frustrated with the entirety of it all. This weekend had been a goddamn nightmare and it didn’t feel like I’d be waking up anytime soon. 

John snorts, “Yeah I saw his face! Quite the shiner on him, huh?” He chuckles, moving his hand to my cheek. “Guess he got what was coming to him. Karma’s a bitch, yeah?” he laughs at his own remark. I’m still staring up at him, as stone-faced as I could be. 

“Did you- and don’t you dare lie to me, Lennon-” I command through gritted teeth, I was losing my cool composure and I knew it. “Did you hurt George?” I ask, hating the way my voice shook with anger, I could feel the tears welling up at the corners of my eyes. I hated to be the bloke that cried when he got angry, but well, here we are. 

“Paul! You’re being ridiculous! You know me, you know I’d never-” John exclaims, throwing his arms up in defence of himself, but I cut him off before he can say too much more. 

“No. Frankly, I’m not being ridiculous! George told me to ask you about what happened, and so here I am, can you answer my question?” I plead, biting the inside of my cheek. 

“Baby! Is this really what- is this really what you think of me?” John asks in disbelief, his voice taking on an almost sulky tone.

“It doesn’t matter what  _ I  _ think of you! John you know you have a reputation!” I point out, trying my best to defend myself, not liking how the questions were being turned around on me. 

I notice John’s jaw tighten up, and I realize that I’ve misspoken. He nods at me, his nostrils flaring slightly in his desperate attempt to control the obvious anger he’s feeling. I backpedal. “I’m- you know that’s not!  _ Fuck- _ John, please just look me in my eyes and tell me the goddamn truth!” I beg, my imploring taking on an almost prayerful quality. 

John sighs, sticking up his right hand. “I, John Winston Lennon, promise that I did not lay a fucking finger on your scumbag friend,” He says, his voice eerily calm, it was truthful. I breathe out a heavy breath that I had no idea that I was holding in.

“Oh my god,” I sigh, nearly breathless. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp barely above a whisper. John shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I thought- I thought you trusted me, Paul…" He pauses, before turning away from me. "Whatever, I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” John mumbles, nodding at me sadly, almost disappointedly.

I feel my heart drop into my stomach as I watch John back out of his parking stall and leave the church. I watch his car drive away, and standing alone in the middle of a Catholic Church parking lot I realized a multitude of things. I’m aware of the small snowflakes falling, the chill of the air, and how I’ve left my coat in the choir section. I realize that now, more than ever, that I was falling deeper and dangerously more in love with this beautiful boy with an affinity for grunge rock and expensive suits. And it dawned on me that for the first time in a while, I was completely and utterly alone. 

If I didn’t have John, I didn’t  _ really _ have anyone. At least, not anymore. 

__

I was almost late for school on Monday. John didn’t show up to pick me up, like usual, but I suppose I deserved it. I had to sprint to the bus stop to be able to make the last bus that would allow me even a chance to get to school on time. Luckily, I made it to St. Edward’s with just enough time to spare. I arrived in first period without too much of a struggle.

And honestly, I thought that I’d made it through the major stressor of the day, I mean, I’d made it to school. But, boy was I wrong.

“So… what’d you do?” a light haired boy, George, from my maths class asks me out of the blue. We had never spoken. It was nearing mid-November, and I had no idea that this lad even knew my name, let alone anything about my personal life. 

“How do you mean?” I sneer, setting my jaw firmly, trying my best not to glare. He rolls his eyes, leaning across his desk and onto mine.

“Brian tells me you pissed off Lenny,” he whispers, looking up at me with anticipation. I roll my eyes. 

“And? So what if I did? Why don’t you and  _ Brian _ keep your fat noses out of it before you piss  _ me  _ off? Huh?” I hiss, turning away from him and up at the board at the example problem.

He lets out a barking laugh. “Now I know why he likes you, Bri told me you were handsome, but it’s probably your attitude that made him like you, am I right?” He asks, once again invading the space of my desk, leaning an elbow against the right side of my desk. 

“None ye! It’s none ye damn business!” I whisper-shout, honestly forgetting the whisper part, making most of the class turn their heads toward our direction. I cringe. “Sorry,” I murmur, embarrassment taking control of my tone. Luckily, everyone continues on fairly normally. 

When lunch rolls around I’m anxious, if John wouldn’t allow me to sit with him and his friends, then I was probably best off eating lunch in the bathroom or piano practice room. I decided to spare myself the awkwardness and went straight to the piano lab, picking a practice room and plunking myself down to eat my lunch.

I tried to focus on the good things and my food, rather than the intense feeling of worry in the pit of my stomach, but that was hard with everything that had gone wrong. Literally everything had gone wrong. 

And after school let out, I was  _ delighted _ to find that it was snowing once again, my crummy rain-slicker not doing much to protect me from the wind and snow. I put up my hood, turning my back against the wind and began the ten minute trek to the nearest bus stop. The wind was harsh and biting, the small snowflakes burning as they hit against my cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter around my body, digging my hands deeper into my pockets, fighting the wind as best as I could to efficiently get to the bus stop. 

I hear a car pull up alongside the curb. I can’t look up, the snow getting caught in my eyelashes and hair if I even attempt to turn my face towards the wind. 

“Hey!” I hear John’s voice call, I assume from inside the car. I stop, turning my face towards the wind for a moment, seeing John’s conflicted expression. “You’ll fucking freeze to death. Get in.” He commands and I hear the clicks of the locks in the car doors unlock. 

I wasn’t going to say no to an escape from the cold, so I rush to get myself inside the passenger side of the car, trying my best to dust the snow off of my body. “I don’t wanna ruin the interior…” I murmur, shaking my arms and backpack around wildly. John laughs at that, shaking his head. 

“You won’t ruin the interior, come on now,” He scolds, still chuckling softly, almost like he forgot to be mad at me for a moment. I nod, quickly pulling the door shut. 

The car ride is quickly enveloped in silence, just the soft hum of the engine, howling wind, and background noise of a Sublime cassette tape. I keep looking at John, trying to decide whether or not to speak, hoping that he’d be the first one to break the silence. But, after about three minutes of dead silence, sitting in stand-still traffic, I realize that John’s not planning on talking. 

“I- John, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, looking up at his magnificent side profile, his eyes focused on the road and the traffic. 

John sighs, staying silent for a few moments. I can tell he’s thinking, with the way that his brows are knitting together. I decide to speak a little bit more, “What I said was so shitty and you have every right to be mad at me I… John, it’s just that I really,  _ really _ like you and I don’t want to lose everything we had over the fact that I was talking out of my ass! I can’t bear to lose you, I-”

John butts in, “I want to be angry with you so goddamn bad,” he nearly shouts, running a frustrated hand through is curls. “You- Paul- you were one of the few people that didn’t see me like that! You saw me as a  _ person!  _ You didn’t see my  _ name _ or my  _ status _ . Baby, you treated me like a regular guy! I thought you cared more like… like maybe we were… something different? I felt like… I felt like I could be myself around you, and… honestly, it hurt! A lot!” He exclaims quickly, the words raw, I could feel the emotion behind them. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want all of this to go- to go out the door, either. But, I’m… I’m sorry I overreacted, but this… Paul, you deserved to know that it hurt…” He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Oh god, I’ve felt awful about the whole thing. John, I’d never intentionally do something to hurt you like that! It was an accident and I didn’t mean it. Swear.” I promise, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his which is resting on the gear shift. He looks over at me, his intense look softening. By now, we were half-way to John’s place, which is a pleasure that I did not believe that I would be getting today: getting to spend time with John at his own home.

By the time were in the garage, I’m babbling apologies again, slinging my book bag over my shoulder and going to help John to carry in one of his canvases, which he'd been storing in the trunk of the car. We enter the home and John’s dropping the entirety of everything he’s holding. “Hey, no more apologizing. Please,” he whispers, taking the bag off of my shoulders and canvas out of my hands, setting them both gently down on the ground. 

He leans in, tilting my chin upward and pressing our lips together. He kisses me softly, tenderly, deepening the kiss quickly. I place my hands against his cheeks, a realization creeping into my head as John begins to suck on my bottom lip. 

I breathe out softly, pulling away from John. “What- what’s wrong?” He asks, hurriedly, trailing his hands down my sides, squeezing my ass softly, protectively. 

“Nothing, I-” I whisper, John cuts me off, attaching his lips to mine again roughly, nibbling harshly on my bottom lip. His hands are roaming my body, grabbing softly at my hips, moving to squeeze the bulge that had been forming in my pants slowly but surely. I groan. 

“Holy mother,  _ fuck me,”  _ I whisper, my head falling back against the wall. I felt those words leave my mouth, hoping that John would get the hint. That’s what I wanted, so terribly badly. “John, I want-  _ I want you to fuck me _ ,” I breathe against the shell of John’s ear, relishing in the shudder that obviously throws him off momentarily. His eyes darken, his tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip. 

“Do you really wanna have sex, angel? Is that what you want?” he asks, gently pressing a palm flat against my steadily hardening cock. I moan, nodding frantically. 

“Want it so bad. Need you,” I murmured, canting my hips into John’s steady touch, too focused on pleasure to realize how nerve wracking this all was. I was going to have sex with a rich private school’s heartbreaker, a sex god. I was nervous. Sure, I was sort of experienced, I’d had sex with Jane (like three times so i needed to calm down with thinking that i was experienced), so I wasn’t a virgin. But, I knew this was what I wanted. 

“I-I need you, John,” I pleaded with him, throwing my head backwards, hoping that he’d finally take pity on me. 

“Hey, hey.” He coos, kissing my lips softly. “We’ll get this taken care of, I promise. I’ll take such good care of you, my love,” He promises, leaning back in for another kiss, leading me upstairs. 

__

After I had a taste of John, I couldn’t get enough. I knew why all those people lusted after him, chased after him with everything they were worth. This sex was like an addiction, once I’d had it once, I needed it all the time. Due to the house being empty most of the time, there was limitless amounts of time… and empty space. There was probably not a surface in the house that John hadn’t had me against. 

And it wasn’t so bad you know, getting manhandled like that. John would grab my throat and shove me against the kitchen cupboards, pushing me onto my knees in front of him. He had this strange ability to always know what I needed and when. Some days he’d have me so rough I could barely walk, he’d be demanding and domineering, the after-effects of sharp shooting pain in my lower back almost unbearable (but worth it). But, other days, he’d be sweet and loving, and so  _ generous.  _ These were the days I felt the orgasms almost sneak up on me, tearing through my chest, leaving the entirety of my body trembling and oversensitive. 

There were two sides to John, really. There was this part that was selfish and bossy, the part of his personality that manifested in the lack of times he’d been told “no” as a child. This side was greedy and cruel, the kind that grabbed harshly and didn’t ask politely, the kind that asked forgiveness, rather than permission. He was  _ rough, _ taking pleasure from me, using my body like it was  _ his.  _ And honestly, it was. I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

But there was this other part of John, this sweet, affectionate young man that wanted nothing more than to take care of me and what I needed. It seemed that this really was the majority of what John was, the kind that reached out and stroked my cheek, fussed over comfort, and obsessed over bruising. This side of John was the boy that rode me into the mattress, putting soft pressure on my throat, whispering sweet words of nothingness, encouragement, always making me feel so lucky. I felt  _ lucky _ to be able to experience both sides of this incredible boy. 

Tough thing was, sometimes this side of John was overtaken by the darker, harsher side, but usually that only happened when I begged for it. You could almost see the switch flip, and that’s what had me trapped so easily under his thumb. His eyes would shift, from this flaming amber color, to this deep, bronze, pupils dilated with intense interest. His tongue would dart out over his bottom lip, before he’d pull it in between his teeth. Usually, all it took was a little, “Johnny, please,” in between kisses, and magically he always  _ knew _ what I needed. 

With that being said, there were an innappropriate amount of places that we’d had sex within our time together. It was not an uncommon occurrence for me to be on my knees on the balcony of the master suite, pressed up against the tile wall of the master bathroom’s shower, or face down on the large king bed in John’s parents’ room. Hell, we’d dabbled having sex in the large claw-foot tub in John’s bathroom, on the hard granite of the kitchen table, and even in the goddamn pool. We’d fucked in my bedroom, had oral sex in my tiny shower, and even exchanged handjobs in the bathroom of the goddamn church, while I was still in my choir outfit. 

It got to the point where I’d spend every day after school at John’s place. We’d take his car back and I’d convinced my dad that John had this big piano that I liked playing so much better than the small upright one we had at home. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, yes the Lennons had this stately white grand piano in the common room of the house, put on a marble pedestal, in front of a wall made of windows. They also had a smaller, baby grand in the basement, made of dark cherry woods that was unfortunately pretty out of tune, it probably didn’t get much attention paid to it. And, there was also a small, upright piano with a caramel colored finish in John’s bedroom, pressed up against the far wall along with his guitar. It was a new development, I’d noticed. 

However, practicing the piano wasn’t usually the reason that I was at the Lennon Estate. And, frankly, my dad probably knew this, but let me accompany John home everyday nonetheless. I mean, some days we would barely make it in the door before John’s mouth was all over mine. And today was no exception. 

I’d had the distinct pleasure of John finger me with lubricant rather than spit today, on the large queen bed pressed up against the far wall in John’s room. I’d ended up cumming from the way he simply crooked his fingers, before he could even get inside of me, which (embarrassingly) was not too terribly uncommon. But, (once again, embarrassingly) that wasn’t nearly enough for me, and I was practically begging John to “roll the damn condom on already,” because I’m obviously very patient. 

That comment probably set him off, seeing as after that, he was absolutely fucking relentless, slamming onto my prostate like the amount of times that I moan or scream gets him a fucking trophy or something. It’s all so intense that I almost feel like I’m floating, with my back against the mess of pillows, my arms wrapped loosely around John’s neck. 

It’s not long before John’s grunting and burying his face underneath my jaw, attaching his lips roughly to the soft skin. “I’m close, pretty,” he grunts in my ear, immediately throwing his head back and cursing, still snapping his hips relentlessly. I nod, leaning up to capture our lips in a kiss. John telling me he’s close seems to pull at something within me, the tip of an orgasm building within the pit of my stomach. 

“Me too,” I huff, breathlessly. John grins arrogantly, reaching between the both of us and beginning to tug me off. I can’t help the string of swears that leave my mouth, a second orgasm building in the pit of my stomach. 

I can tell when he finishes, his hips stilling for a moment before he’s riding out his orgasm, gently pressing kisses all over my face, still working me off in his hand. It’s not long before I’m spilling all over his hand. 

John quickly rolls off me, disposing of the condom, wiping my stomach and his hand off with a discarded dirty tee shirt from his messy floor. He then proceeds to fall onto his back, interlacing our hands softly. I’m still horrendously out of breath.

John looks over at me, his naked chest heaving still. He grins at me, the absolute elation plastered all over his face, a vibrant blush coating his cheeks and ears. “God, you’re so perfect,” he whispers, reaching out to touch the side of my face, sweeping away the sweaty hair clinging to my cheekbones in strings.

I roll my eyes, laughing. “You are so full of shit, Lennon,” I scoff, gently placing my hand over his. “But I appreciate it,” I beam, grinning sheepishly at him. I loved the way he looked after sex, the post-orgasm glow and the light sheen of sweat that covers most of his body, he looked celestial. 

It was funny, you know, our sex was cloaked in pleasure and lust that made John feel like this embodiment of everything sinful. Lust, beauty, and passion, this trifecta of godlessness. It was a possessive, almost serpentine, stranglehold that he so easily submerged me in, and I loved it. I ate up every last bit of the bliss, every hellish second was worth it, the pleasure as immeasurable as the passion. John could kill me with his devilish grin and unholy touch, satisfaction so good that it’s sinful. 

But after all of it, after everything, even covered in bruises, hickies, and scratch marks, John  _ glowed.  _ He was absolutely radiant, seemingly painted by cherubs, sheathed in warmth. This afterglow lifted John to a level of beauty that almost seemed celestial, no doubt sculpted by The Maker himself.  _ Heavenly.  _ The bed we were laying on became hallowed ground, ethereal beauty seeping from where he lay, bound in passion, shielded by pleasure.

“You’re  _ beautiful,  _ John.” I state, lamely. Just watching him lay there, my hand placed over his chest. I watched his eyelids flutter open, short eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked his eyes open. 

“Says you, darling,” he chuckles, turning his head towards me. I feel my cheeks flush, I lean in and kiss him softly, an act of unadulterated gratitude. 

And then we lay there, in this strangely comfortable silence, me on my side and John on his back. I can hear our breathing eventually align, the rising and falling of our chests synchronized. 

“I have something I want to give you,” John announces after a long moment of silence, rolling over to reach for something in his bedside table drawer. I hear him rustling around for a moment before he rolls back over, propping himself up, something small clenched in his closed fist. “Close your eyes,” he commands, grinning. 

I nod, closing my eyes and pushing myself up to a semi-seated position on one of my elbows. I thrust out a hand curiously, holding my open palm up to where John is holding the item. I feel him drop it into my hand and I quickly open my eyes to find a small, gold key in the palm of my hand. There’s a little metal key ring attached to the key, along with a bright green tag that reads “Johnny” on it. 

I cock my head sideways, “What… John what’s this for?” I ask confusedly, turning over the small key in my hand. 

“It’s a spare key to the house, my love,” he says, grinning. “I used to misplace mine a lot when I was younger, so there’s like fifty copies of the damn key to this house, and I- Paul I want you to have one.” John explains, reaching out to fold my hand around the object. 

“Wh- John you… why?” I ask, dumbfounded that John wanted me to have basically 24 hour access to his house.

“I like you a lot, Paul. Obviously I want to share what I have with you, angel. What’s mine is yours and all that crap,” John chuckles, leaning in and kissing my forehead. My mouth is hanging open, I’m in complete disbelief. 

“You like me a lot? Like you like me  _ this  _ much?” I exclaim, waving the key around. 

“I just absolutely annihilated you… fucked you into oblivion, Paul, and you’re surprised that I like you ‘like  _ this _ much’?” John taunts, laughing at my remark. 

“I just- oh…” I giggle, realize that John’s looking at me with absolute adoration, his gaze making my stomach fill with pure warmth. “Thanks,” I say quickly, leaning in and pecking his lips. 

He laughs at that, pulling me in for another kiss, “You’re welcome,  _ sweetheart _ ,” John whispers against my lips, the chilly tip of his nose brushing softly against mine. He’s positively beaming. 

I pull away, the question leaving my lips before I can stop it, “Does that mean you’re going to stop seeing other people?” I ask, biting my bottom lip. 

“Wha’ do you mean…?” John asks, looking at me, softly running a hand through my sweaty hair. I bite my lip, seriously debating what I’m about to ask. 

“I-I mean… I know you’re- John I know you’re still seeing Cynthia, so… will- will that stop?” I ask, hesitantly. I wasn’t blind, nor stupid, I knew that she was still around. I mean, she still had belongings at John’s house, not to mention she still clung to him like a parasite during school, there wasn’t so much as a moment that they weren’t together. 

He sighs, “Yeah, Paul. I’ll admit that I’m still occasionally seeing, Cyn. But, pretty, she’s  _ nothing  _ compared to you, I swear it.” he explains, the familiar warm gold lighting up his eyes. 

I frown, not exactly being pleased with the fact that my unfortunate suspicion had just been verbalized. “I just… I- oh god this is stupid- I wanna be the only one,” I confess, chuckling softly, a blush coating my cheeks. A shit-eating grin begins to spread over John’s features. 

“Are you… jealous? Is the  _ prettiest boy on planet earth  _ seriously  _ jealous?”  _ he asks, biting his lip. I throw an arm over my eyes, embarrassed. 

“I mean... a little…” I confess, my blush intensifying. John laughs. 

“Don’t be!” he nearly shouts, reaching over to pull me against his chest. He presses a soft kiss to the crown of my head.

“I just don’t want you to be selling me a fantasy.” I murmur against John’s chest, pressing a few soft kisses there. 

“Would I have just given you the key to my fucking house if I was selling you a fantasy?” He asks, seemingly rhetorically as he rubs the tip of his nose along my upper cheekbone. I sigh, shrugging. John merely smiles. 

In the silence, I take in more details about the room, eventually finding myself staring longingly at the piano in the corner of the room. It was beautiful, a Steinway, much nicer than the Wulitzer that we had at my house. I can imagine the incredible sound it gives off, probably the best of all of the upright pianos that money could get you at the moment.

John eventually notices my staring, rubbing a thumb gently across the bones in my shoulders. “Do you want to play it?” He whispers in my ear, his breath warm and comfortable, his lips just ghosting over my earlobe. 

I shrug. “It’s pretty. Reminds me of the one my mom used to play at my grandparents’ house.” I murmur softly. “She taught me to play,” I explain, feeling the goosebumps rise on my skin as John touches my arms softly. “I play a lot when I miss her,” I whisper absentmindedly, the words merely tumbling from my mouth. I feel John exhale sharply, and I hoped he wouldn’t press. He didn’t. 

“Do… Do you feel like playing now?” he asks, hesitantly. 

“I mean, yes. I always want to play… and I have a recital Tuesday, I could use the practice.” I murmur sleepily leaning into John’s warm touch along my back. I feel him press a few soft kisses against some of the bones in my spine. 

“Well we can’t have you missing out on a chance to practice, now can we?” He hums, pressing a few more kisses to my shoulder blades. “Go on now, angel. Show off for me?” he asks, giggling a bit as I sit up slowly, wincing at the pain in my lower back. 

I struggle to pick up a sweater off of one of the posts on John’s headboard, slipping it over my shoulders, limping a bit to grab my discarded boxers from the floor, pulling them on. I pull the bench out, lowering myself down onto the seat gently, taking care to mind the pain in my back and ass. John chuckles, murmuring a hushed, “I’m sorry, baby.”

I shake my head, shrugging, “Not your fault. I asked for it, didn’t I?” I laugh, looking back at John. He shrugs, merely humming in response. He makes a shooing movement with his hand, as if wordlessly instructing me to get to playing. I roll my eyes.

I explain that I don’t really have the piece memorized, that I’d normally have sheet music and all of that jazz. I tell John that this is going to be far from perfect, that I’ve still got some things to figure out. John laughs and yells at me to get on with it. I nod, eventually placing my hands against the pristine white keys. I was nervous to play for John, but after everything I knew better than to worry about something as stupid as that. 

I almost moaned in delight at the magnificent sound that the piano makes as my hands strike the first chord. From there, I’m almost in a trance at the angelic tinkle of notes that my fingers command from the piano. This piano, this Steinway, I would swear on my mother’s grave that it was a completely different instrument to the one we had at home. I played the best I could though, delighting in the way that this damn piano could make me sound like Motzart. I finish the piece, eventually turning around to look back at John. He’s staring at me, dreamily, a sweet smile enveloping his mouth. 

“So beautiful, my love. You’re so fucking talented,” John says, walking over to take a seat next to me on the piano bench. “I am so lucky,” he mumbles, leaning in for kiss number two thousand that day. I grin against his lips, thinking _ “How the hell are you the lucky one?” _

__

I decided that night that I needed to find a way to tell John that I loved him. I wanted him to know how strongly I felt for him. I wanted him to know how much he meant me.I sat down at my desk, pulling out a pencil and my notebook from school. I began to sketch out plans to write a song for John. With the key to the Lennon’s Estate burning a hole in my trouser pockets, I began to write my first ever lovesong. A song for John Winston Lennon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so fkn much for reading and putting up with me bc im annoying ! <33


	11. my boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul realizes that he was better off not knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> broskis ,,, this is so much shorter than normal like its so short i am so sorry ! im also very sorry for how long this took to complete ! BUT the second part should be up way sooner !! ive been dealing with a lot of grief for the past couple of days ,,, along with the fact that i have a head cold so i hope u enjoy this content created in a dayquil and sobbing induced haze hahahah !

For the next couple of weeks, the sheet music and the key eventually ended up sort of collecting dust on my dresser in my bedroom. I didn’t want to somehow overstep a boundary and have John revoke my key benefits... I didn’t want to abuse this incredibly special privilege. Not to mention the idea of confronting the feelings that I’d been coming to terms with since the beginning of the school year was terrifying, and that was putting it lightly. I mean, how stupid was I, really?

Secretly, I had this strange sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach about the entire thing. Like, John “Heartbreaker Extraordinaire” Lennon would probably dump me the minute that the “L-Word” left my mouth. If I had learned anything from being friends with Pete and George, the word  _ love _ was your one-way ticket straight to single-ville. 

For them, the shameless flirts that they were, it was all fun and games until a chick says she’s in love with you. Then the game’s over, and it’s in your best interest to get the hell out, and fast. 

I worried that this would unfortunately be the case with John, too. If I learned anything from the way that people around school talked about him, the only thing that he feared more than a girl falling in love with him was getting HIV… which… both options were probably equally likely, purely based on the amount of past sexual partners that John had amassed during his time of existing on this planet. 

I tried to shake the heavy feeling of something I couldn’t quite place as I got ready to go out for the night. It was Friday after all, and recently I’d been spending much more time with John and his friends. We were grabbing a bite to eat from a pizzeria near my house, then we’d eventually head over to a roller rink in midtown. 

Stu was bold enough to complain at lunch that our friend group always does the same thing every Friday, he mentioned that he was getting tired of going to eat at the Liverpool City Centre, then going to the movies, driving around, or swimming in John’s indoor pool. This earned a glare from Cynthia, a groan from Amber, and a jab in the ribs from Ringo. He shrugged, throwing his hands up in defense of himself, “What! I think we should just… I dunno… maybe switch something up?” 

I found myself nodding in agreement, not that there was anything wrong with listening to the same goddamn Nirvana tape over and over, cruising down Mathew Street, or eating popcorn while John slyly slid his hand up and down my thigh whilst a movie played on the big screen. But, honestly, I missed being able to do more things, you know? With my friends at Fazakerley, we’d always find new things to do, despite the fact that not many of us had money. 

“See! Paul agrees with me!” Stu exclaims, shrugging, taking a bite out of his sandwich. I feel my cheeks flush, I rarely voiced much of an opinion, usually hiding beneath the protection of John, going with the flow. Eventually though, I find myself nodding. 

“Not that what we do is bad it just… we do the same stuff... like all the time…” I say, shrugging again, looking away from John’s hardened gaze. 

“What’s wrong with the stuff we normally do?” Cynthia sneers, throwing me a sharp glare. I bite my bottom lip, grimacing. This is not the reaction that I wanted, but it was pretty much the one that I expected. 

“Nothing!” I defend, holding my hands out assuringly. “I just... “ I trail off, not able to look into Cynthia’s piercing brown eyes. 

“Hey, I think that’s a good idea.” John soothes, grabbing a piece of celery from a plastic bag in Cynthia’s lunch. He takes a bite, the crisp crunch sound almost making me jump. “I think it’s a good thing to switch stuff up every once in a while, ya know? Plus the pool’s dirty and our pool boy’s out of town.” he explains in between chewing, his mouth full. 

I knew the reason Cynthia didn’t want to change what we did, and I understood. The more familiar she was, the tighter the stranglehold she could keep on John. At the movies, she could hold his hand, cower into his side, what have you. Driving around, she always got to sit in the passenger seat of John’s car, always forcing me to the backseat; occasionally, I’d be lucky enough that Stu would ride with us, and I’d at least have someone to talk to, but most times he rode in Ringo’s car, especially now that Ringo got a new set of wheels for his 18th birthday. Swimming, well that was fairly obvious, how could John resist her with her body on display? 

It didn’t bother me too much though, I didn’t doubt John’s feelings for me. Well, that wasn’t completely true, but the less that I could dwell on it, the better. I didn’t want to believe that John would pick Cynthia over me, I didn’t want to think about the possibility that I might lose out to a blonde in Jimmy Choo leather booties. 

Apparently, I’d zoned out thinking about all of this, staring blankly down at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I only snapped out of it when I heard my name, quickly shaking my head, looking up at everyone sitting around the table. 

“What?” I ask, lamely, trying to re engage myself into the conversation. John chuckles, lightly, placing a soft hand on the back of my neck. 

“I asked, ‘Is there anything you’d like to do tonight?’ You live on the other side of town. Maybe there’s something for all of us to do over there?” He said, softly dragging his thumb over the spot on my neck before retreating his hand back into Cynthia’s bag of celery. I shrug. 

“I mean, I guess there’s this really good pizza place?” I suggest hesitantly, blinking around at the rest of the table. Ringo suddenly nods excitedly.

“Pizza! Stellar! What else?” He asks, suddenly leaning in, interested in what I had to provide. I think for a second, wracking my brain for other things sort of near my house that would be fun for a group of six to do. 

“There’s a roller rink?” I offer, shrugging for what felt like the millionth time. That earns a bunch of cheers from the group, especially Stu. 

“I’ve never been rollerskating before! That’ll be absolutely nines!” He exclaims, grinning widely. I find myself smiling, feeling a sense of pride seeping into my chest. The feeling only elevates when I feel John’s soft hand squeeze softly at my thigh. 

And thus, here I am, examining myself in the mirror for the umteenth time that night. I decided to wear a pair of pre-ripped black jeans that John had bought me a couple of weeks ago, when I commented about offhandedly about a pair of pants that Kurt Cobain had been wearing in a photo in a magazine. Naturally, that was an invitation for John to buy me said jeans. I also donned a plain white tee-shirt and flannel, with a grey beanie, and the same pair of beat-up Chuck Taylor’s that I’d been wearing for months. I couldn’t let John buy  _ everything  _ for me… but, at the end of the day, he insisted that he  _ liked to _ … whatever that meant. 

__

I expected the entirety of this experience to be painful. Even though I felt wholly comfortable around John, and got on well with Stu and Ringo, trying to feel comfortable with Amber and Cynthia was tougher than I had originally thought it was going to be. I mean, at least they both hated me for the same reason, the fact that John was sweet on me. Cynthia because she felt that was her role, and Amber because for some reason, she was still with George, who also hated me for the same reason. 

But, overall, the night was going rather swimmingly, the pizza went over well, minus Cynthia occasionally complaining about the grease, mopping it up with a paper napkin. And now we had arrived at Planet Roller Rink, an outer space themed roller skating place that I’d frequented in secondary school with George and Pete. I hadn’t been since I was probably thirteen, but when we stepped inside I was kind of shocked to find that literally  _ nothing _ had changed. 

The small rink was the center of the building, which backed up to an enormous mural of a Saturn-shaped planet with rings that read “Planet Roller Rink”. The other surrounding walls covered in various outer space memorabilia: galaxy wallpaper, plastic “planets” that hung from the walls and ceiling, paintings of astronauts floating aimlessly through space. Even the workers wore shirts with aliens on the back of them, complete with name tags shaped like rocket ships.

There was a small area to buy snacks, as well as rent skates. There were strings of multi-colored light bulbs attached to the ceiling, which flashed assorted colors of the rainbow based on the “mood” of the music, which was controlled by a man in a sort of DJ turntable behind the rink area. The carpeting was covered in constellations and aliens covered in flying saucers (I know, shocker). 

“Woah! This place is  _ dope.”  _ Ringo said in amazement, taking a few moments to look around the place, shedding his puffy winter coat. The rest of the group ended up doing the same, placing our coats on a table near the rink.

“Paul! I didn’t even know this place existed, this is sweet!” Amber exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was refreshing to hear someone talk positively about me. 

“Yeah! Used to come here all the time! Thought this place was the shit as a kid,” I chuckle, walking towards the place where you could rent skates. 

“Yeah, as a  _ kid.  _ This is… gross,” I heard Cynthia mumble to herself under her breath just a little too loudly. I rolled my eyes, internally groaning at how snobby she sounded, but I tried my very best not to let it show. I didn’t want to be a sore winner, nor a sore loser, when it came to Cynthia. After all, she was an important person in John’s life even when they weren’t having sex, and I wasn’t trying to burn any bridges between us. She was an integral part of my new group of friends, and I wasn’t going to be the one to sour our connection.

I walked over to the skate rental area, placing my money on the counter and grabbing my pair of skates. When I looked back, the rest of the group trailed behind me, like lost dogs trying to find their way home. I watched John struggle to figure out his size, Ringo grapple with the fact that he only had a fifty dollar bill, and Amber trying to figure out how exactly this whole rental process worked, almost bargaining with the poor employee. I shook my head, laughing at the absurdity of the entire thing. 

We eventually got our skates figured out, having to deal with the fact that Cynthia sort of threw a fit at the fact that “other people’s feet have been in these skates!”, which seemed to only bother her. So much so, that she chose to hold off skating and got a soda instead, explaining that she’d rather “watch anyway”, whatever that meant really. But, everyone else laced up their skates without too much complaining, and seeing as I was the only one who’d ever been skating before, the rest of the group was excited to hit the rink.

“I’ve never done this before,” John whispers, sitting next to me, lacing up his skates, knocking his knee against mine playfully. I focus on lacing up my skate, rather than the intense blush spreading over my cheeks. I couldn’t deny how good he looked tonight. He wore his glasses, his hair freshly showered, curls on full display, wearing a red and white bomber jacket with a black v-neck tee-shirt underneath. I shrugged in response to his statement, watching with interest as he carefully stood up, balancing his weight pretty evenly across the skates. 

“It’s not so hard, I swear,” I promise, also standing up, grinning at him. I hoped that my skills that I gained when I was younger would stay with me, I couldn’t bear the thought of falling flat on my face in front of John. I watch him wiggle his legs, stumbling to the edge of the rink, stepping down and holding onto the wall, holding himself up as his legs slid around underneath him. I laughed, clamping a hand over my mouth, watching as John’s long legs slipped around on the polished wood, struggling to get his balance on the skates.

I then took to the rink, which at this time was fairly empty, seeing as most of the kids younger than us had already headed home. There were a handful of other teenagers attempting to skate in lazy circles around the rink, but not enough to get in our way. 

“This is harder than it looks!” John warns, laughing as his legs tremble as he stands fully upright for the first time since stepping onto the rink. I shake my head, skating over to where he stood. I was a little wobbly, but nothing like John, who looked like he was an infant attempting to take their first steps.

It didn’t take long for everyone to kind of get the hang of things, shuffling quickly back and forth across the rink, using speed to soothe the fact that they were unsteady skaters. I continued to run circles around the rink, simply enjoying the music that the DJ was playing, watching John, Ringo and Stu push off of one wall to see who could skate to the opposite wall the fastest. Soon enough, Amber had joined in when the three boys got into a heated argument about who could  _ really  _ skate the fastest.

I watched from afar, enjoying the view of John being completely out of his element, fully immersed in a strange attitude of child-like amusement. I loved how he tried to show off for me, exclaiming a chirpy, “Look at me, Bambi,” everytime he did something without falling. I especially loved how his face lit up as he realized he could spin in a circle on the skates, doing a couple of spins before falling right on his ass. I can’t help the grin that breaks out over my face, I can barely hold in the laughter, watching John give up and lay flat on his back against the hardwood flooring.

I skate over to a dejected John who decided to continue lying on the ground after his fall, rather than attempting to get up again. He flicked me off, putting a dejected arm over his eyes, grinning adorably.

“Come on, I’ll help you up,” I choke out, trying to hold in my giggles. John sighs, raising his hand for me to grab onto to help him up. “I’ll show you how to skate,” I offer, pulling John to his feet.

He stumbles a bit, leaning fully on me for support, his lanky legs teetering, his gaze at his feet, attempting to balance his skates. He lets out a breathy laugh, holding onto my forearms, finally looking up at me, grinning. I grin smugly, “It’s nice to be the pro at something for one,” I chide, interlacing our fingers as we begin to slowly away from the stability of the wall. 

John scoffs, squeezing my hand before letting our hands fall to our sides, “Well, it’s probably as good of a time as any to learn a little something, hm?” He murmurs, shooting me a knowing look. I bite my bottom lip, speeding up my movements a bit. 

I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I was holding hands with John in  _ public _ , or the look of disgust on Cynthia’s face, but my chest filled with this undeniable warmth. Hell, I couldn’t deny the fact that every time I was doing anything even remotely “couple-y” with John, I felt a strange sense of pride. It was the rush of the fact that he chose to be around me, especially with Cynthia sitting mere yards away, it meant the world that he didn’t let go of my hand. 

Everyone had so much fun that it took the employees politely asking us to leave about three times before we all returned our skates and headed out to our respective cars. Even Cynthia eventually got out on the rink, probably when she saw John press a sweet kiss to the back of my hand. 

By the time we left, Stu and Ringo were already discussing coming back next week. I felt a sense of joy bloom in my chest, it was a nice feeling, you know? I felt like I was an important part of a friend group again, I felt like this was a puzzle piece finally dropping into place. Everything just felt  _ right,  _ especially with John. 

After the way that he’d held onto me, placing soft kisses to my hand, looking me over with gentle eyes, laughing and joking around with his mates (while I was there, holding his hand), I felt that my heart really had made up its mind. After this whirlwind of a Friday night, the first Friday in December, I knew I had to face my fears. 

At this point, the mere itch to whisper a soft, “I love you,” to John, felt like a burning desire that I had to fulfil. And, it seemed that the longer that I waited the worse it got, the words nearly spilling out of my mouth casually in conversation. I had to tell him, it was time to face the music and tell John that I loved him. 

_ __ _

I didn’t get the courage up until a little over a week later. It the last weekend before exams, which would start the following Monday. It felt like a good time, seeing as if things went well, I’d be able to spend a s much time with John as I wanted over the Christmas Holiday. But, if things went south, however, I would be able to avoid the boy for two weeks, definitely allowing for some time to recover. 

It was a rainy Friday afternoon, school had let out early because of the upcoming exams, and I was pacing my room. It almost felt like I was wearing away the carpet with the amount of times that I’d run the same lap between my bed and my dresser. I held the key to John’s place firmly in my left hand, my backpack slung over my shoulder, which held the four pages of sheet music I’d written for John. I was mid-pep talk to myself in the mirror, eventually getting up the courage to head to the bus stop. 

I tried to avoid thinking too hard about all of it, trying to remember things that my mum would tell me as a kid. She used to always try to soothe my anxiety flare ups with the phrase, “Come on, Paulie… what’s the worst that could happen?” which, believe it or not, never really helped alleviate much of the anxiety I felt. But, at this time, I could distinctly hear my mother’s voice in my head, “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

And although I tried not to dwell on it, I was attempting to coach myself through what I would do if the worst did happen. However, I quickly brushed the thought away, filling my head with a bunch of positive visualisations. I grinned at the thought of John repeating those three important words right back to me, and how good it would feel when our lips would meet.

It wasn’t often that I prayed, but in this moment, I sent up a silent prayer, more to my mum than anybody else, hoping that something good would come out of this. I couldn’t shake these nerves. 

On the short bus ride to John’s neighborhood, I mentally rehearsed the lyrics of the song over and over in my head, not wanting to embarrass myself by flubbing up in front of John. I could feel how shaky, not to mention sweaty, my hands were, feeling them tremble around the small key, growing steadily clammier by the second. I took a few deep breaths, humming the melody to myself, tapping my foot gently. 

_ If I fell in love with you _

_ Would you promise to be true _

_ If I give my heart to you  _

_ I must be sure  _

_ From the very start  _

_ That you would love me more than her _

I didn’t mean to make the lyrics so poignant, so demanding, but I couldn’t help it, when I was writing it. It was like these words, these thoughts, began to pour out of me, all of my fears, all of my reservations about this relationship, about us, seemed to seep onto the page without much of a second thought. I hoped that John would understand. I hoped to god that he would do more than understand, I hoped he’d feel the same.

_ So I hope you see that I _

_ Would love to love you _

_ And that she will cry _

_ When she learns we are two _

_ 'Cause I couldn't stand the pain _

_ And I would be sad if our new love was in vain _

__

I slip the key into the lock on the front door, having to jiggle it around a little bit before I can finally turn the key. I hear the lock click open, so I reached for the doorknob, twisting the intricate gold knob and throwing the white door open. Like I expected, the house is as quiet as death, so quiet that I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the soles of my shoes squeaking along the marble flooring. I pull the door closed behind me, bending down to untie and take off my shoes. I didn’t want to track anything through this house, it barely looked lived in. No matter how often I was here, the marble was always pristinely white, everything extremely shiny, expensive and breakable. 

Now barefoot, I quickly move towards the staircase, calling up John that I was dropping in. I didn’t get much of a response, but I heard some shuffling, showing that there was at least some kind of life in the house. 

I wondered if the noises I heard were from John at all. My heart was racing, how embarrassing would it be if I showed up to profess my love for John, and I was met with angry parents, wondering who let some random punk onto their property. I shook the thoughts away, calling out to John again. 

“John? Are you home?” my voice rang off of the high ceilings, echoing back to me again. My question was only met with more, this time louder, thumps that seemed to be coming from the west wing of the house. That was expected, most of the rooms John and I spent time in were in the west wing, his room, one of the guest bedrooms, his bathroom, etc., and so I figured that he was probably napping or something of the sort. I hoped desperately that I wasn’t waking him up from a deep sleep, I can imagine how overwhelming it would probably be: waking up from a nap with a boy in front of you saying, “Hey, I’m in love with you and I wrote you this song to prove it.” Probably not ideal

I entered the long hallway, noting that the overhead lights were on, but all of the doors were closed. Odd. I frowned, hearing soft laughs coming from the room at the end of the hall: John’s room. 

I recognized John’s hearty, nasally laugh, it cut through the thick blanket of silence, even carrying over the barrier of the door. I could hear something playing on John’s record player, and the soft murmur of conversation. 

I hear another voice, female and achingly familiar, carry over the hum of the music. I hear John’s biting laugh again, followed by some kind of groan of pleasure, and it suddenly dawns on me, feeling like a stab to the chest. 

_ Cynthia.  _

I couldn’t help the anger that I feel in my head, making my ears and cheeks heat up, stealing the heavy presence of my extremities and putting that heaviness in my head, placing numbness in my limbs. “You’re joking,” I mumble under my breath, not to anyone in particular, probably the universe if I’m being honest. I couldn’t help the pang of sadness, and envy over everything, as I spin around to leave. It was stupid anyway, being here. All of this was a stupid waste of time. 

I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I should’ve listened to my instincts, there was a reason I was so nervous. God I was so fucking stupid. 

Unfortunately, I failed to realize how close I was to a side-table placed along the wall outside of the bathroom. It acted as a place to hold towels and extra toiletries, and my knee hit the side of it, tripping me. I grimace at the noise, realizing how loud the sound of my leg hitting the leg of the table was. I stumble further, knocking the table against the wall, but finding a way of steadying myself on the edge of the tabletop, biting my lip to distract myself from the pain in my leg. 

_ So much for slipping away unnoticed,  _ I think, my head hung low, staring down at the intricate pattern along the surface of the table. I attempt to catch my breath, focusing on the sound of my breathing, rather than the sharp, tingling pain in my upper leg. I hear the record stop, and some shuffling coming from inside of John’s room. I wanted to run, but the throbbing I felt in my left knee kept me from going much of anywhere. I had the stupid key still clenhed in my hand, and I felt absolutely idioting, about to cry from hitting my damn leg on a side-table. 

John’s bedroom door creaks open softly, and I quickly look back down at my clenched fists. “Paul?” Cynthia’s dulcet voice asks from behind the cover of the door. I look up, regretting it almost immediately.

There she stood, in John’s large, faded “Led Zeppelin: U.S. Tour 1975” tee shirt, it reached just above her knee, the rest of her legs bare. Her hair, which normally looked meticulously styled, was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. I open my right fist, pressing the key onto the table, the clink of the metal key against the polished wood making Cynthia’s expression become even more puzzled. 

I hear John shuffle toward the door, finally appearing behind Cynthia, looking nearly as confused as she was. His curls tousled in a way that looked like he was trying to fix himself up before investigating the situation further, he lacked a shirt, but was wearing a pair of basketball style shorts. I noted the fact that his glasses were smudged, like he’d blindly reached for them, and there were faint scratch marks down the front of his chest that I  _ knew _ I hadn’t left there. I look back down at the tabletop, feeling a surge of jealousy squeeze at my insides. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” I spit through gritted teeth, partially from the physical pain, partially from the emotional pain, sliding the key towards the middle of the table. “I was just leaving,” I explain, biting my bottom lip. 

“Paul! What are you doing… what are you doing here?” John asks, looking at me sadly. I shake my head, biting down harder on my bottom lip. The bitter iron-filled taste of blood fills my mouth, just as a tear spills down my right cheek. I swiftly bring a hand to wipe away the stray tear, smearing the wetness towards the side of my face. 

“I- erm- I was just returning the key you let me borrow,” I explain, trying my best to sound jubilant, but my voice quivered. I give John a weak smile, motioning towards the small gold key, the neon green tag starkly contrasting against the mahogany. 

John just stares at me, vacantly, the soft color in his cheeks draining at my statement. “Sorry to be a bother… I’ll just go now-” I choke out, finally getting the courage to leave the scene, clutching the straps of my backpack tightly, digging my nails into the weathered cotton. 

I hear him call out for me, but I was much more focused on the idea of getting home, than trying to make things right with John. 

He’d said he would stop seeing her. He’d given me his word, made me think that maybe, just for a second, that I could be something that he really wanted. God, I was so naive. I was so naive, and George was  _ so  _ unfortunately correct. I shook my head, dashing down the marble staircase and out the door that I’d come in. 

The sky was much greyer than it had been when I’d first entered the house, which felt kind of fitting. Serves me right you know? Trusting him. I should’ve listened to George. I should’ve listened to literally everyone. The cold chill of the wind makes it painfully apparent that I’m crying, the white, hot tears burning as they spill down both of my cheeks. 

I cry the entirety of the bus ride home. I couldn’t hold it in, leaning my head against the window and letting the tears fall. It was painful, you know, getting your heart broken. That’s what I believed this was, after all. I’d spent so many agonizing days with this boy, the “I love you” balanced on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t say it. And now more than ever, I was almost thankful that I hadn’t.

Maybe I was better off not knowing. Maybe I would’ve been better off blindly having sex with this boy, avoiding any thoughts of feelings whatsoever. Maybe I would’ve been better off not thinking that I could have feelings for him at all. 

He lied to me so many times, pouring so much goddamn honey in my ear I was surprised I didn’t die of an ear infection. And everything he said, about me, about us, about everything, it was all a goddamn lie.

And, even after this, after I found him getting off with someone else, after he unabashedly asked what I was doing, after  _ everything _ he’d put me through. He’d basically taken my virginity, stolen my trust, robbed me of most of my old friends, and all to just sleep with some girl, to hook up with an old side piece. 

I still loved him. 

And that was the saddest part, that even after he’d gained my trust fully, only to piss it all away, I still was head over heels for this asshole. It hurt so fucking bad, the rest of my Friday spent wallowing in my own sorrow and self pity, scolding myself for getting so invested. It hurt. 

And I still loved him. 

At the end of the day, I would still go back to him in a heartbeat, if he could just explain it all away. That didn’t stop the fact that I wish that I didn’t, that I wish I never would’ve wanted to be more than a sex toy for him. The fact that he whispered all these things to me, that he fully convinced me that I was something special, and I had the audacity to  _ believe him.  _ And here he was, in bed with a girl that I specifically asked him not to see.

And, disappointingly,  _ I still loved him.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe only five chapters left ! it’s all downhill from here boyz:-//


	12. &burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides that Paul deserves an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I HAVE NEVER LOST A PARENT, I DO NOT CLAIM TO KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO LOSE A PARENT. I AM SIMPLY WRITING HOW I HANDLE OTHER GRIEF. thanks:-) 
> 
> ALSO this is unedited sry:-(( 
> 
> ALSO i be like,,, nervy that i won’t finish this book before i go back to uni !! also i be nervy that people r not gonna like this book soon idk idk i be not confident latelyyyyy ,,, 
> 
> ALSO how would u guys feel if i made this into a series ???? I don’t wanna end John n Paul’s storyline where it’s at right now so pls let me know ur thoughts in the comments ! appreciate u all dearly <33
> 
> shout out kaylee, my rock, as per usual

It had been a while since I’d found myself in this place, mingling among the headstones, pulling my ratty coat against my sides, trying my best to ignore the wind. It was dismal, the grey color of the sky accenting the yellowed grass, hardened from frost, offset only by the headstones that were equally as grey. My feet seemed to know the walk better than I did, leading me up the gravel path without so much as having any thoughts about it. I wasn’t counting rows or keeping track of names like I usually did, it seemed that when I needed my mother most, I somehow always knew where to find her. 

I didn’t go see my mum a lot. I know I should visit her more, I know that there’s so much more that I should be doing for us, for this relationship that I wanted to upkeep. But, it was hard. It’s hard having to look at a gravestone and not into your mother’s eyes; asking a headstone for help wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, they don’t tend to really talk back very much.

However, when I needed her, she was always here, always in the same place, a small, grey headstone among a fleet of others. I had the epitaph memorized at this point, however, seeing it in person brought a sense of comfort that I hadn’t felt in quite some time

“Mary Patricia McCarney 1941-1992: 

Beloved mother and wife

‘There is no fear in love. Because perfect love drives out fear.’ 1 John 4:18” 

I dropped to the ground at my mum’s gravesite, feeling my resolve completely crumble from underneath me. 

It had been a while since I’d completely broken down in front of her, at least not like this. I hadn’t felt this broken since she first passed, spending the majority of my afternoons in a strange limbo of silent prayer of thanks that she was no longer suffering and a plea to let her be back with me, for just a few moments. There were days that I’d throw myself at the ground wanting nothing more than to feel her warm embrace just one last time, wanting to feel something of hers that was alive and  _ here.  _

But as I carried on, I realized that no amount of begging to God would bring her back. It just wouldn’t, and I knew that now. And so the violent sobs and dry heaving ceased, for the most part. It had probably been almost a year since I’d broken down like this in front of her. 

Secretly, I had stopped coming to see her because it felt easier to just recognize that she was gone without seeing the stone slab reminder in front of me. It was too hard, it was often just too much for me to handle, coping with the loss of the person I loved most wasn’t easy. Although, visits became less frequent, they did become much easier. I found myself being able to feel close to her without the constricting stranglehold of the reminder that my own mother was dead. 

That didn’t take away from the fact that there were days when I still desperately needed her, days when I’d still drop to the ground in unadulterated longing for my mother who simply could not be present. 

I needed her now, more than ever, to be here and to simply wrap her arms around me and promise me that it was going to be alright. I could sometimes hear the sound of her voice, it was sweet and soft, almost angelic. I could remember the smell of her perfume, the look of her favorite pair of shoes, the way she wore her hair. But, that didn’t allow her to be here, to be with me. 

“Mum,” I cried out, sobs wracking my body, as I clung to the headstone, pressing my forehead against the rough surface, needing to be close to her, just to be near her. 

_ What can I even do now, mum?  _ I ask, maybe to her, maybe to god? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I was hurting so bad, crying out because of my own stupid mistakes. Just like she always had, I put my heart before my head and it got me hurt. 

It was stupid, but being there, in front of her, it felt like she knew and could understand my pain. I knew she was there with me, I couldn’t really explain the sensation, not wanting to think too hard about something that I knew couldn’t  _ really _ happen. But, sometimes when I’d come see my mother, I could just talk to her for hours, she wouldn’t verbally answer, but just being there with her gave me everything I needed. 

Eventually, I was almost laughing, laying down next to her plot of land, ignoring the crisp chill of the wind. I watched the grey clouds move across the sky, trying to pick out shapes within them, imagining that my mum was with me, doing the same. It was nice, and I really wasn’t keeping track of how much time had passed, although I should’ve been. 

I didn’t realize the sun was really setting until it had, leaving me to walk home alone, completely in the dark, only the light from one sole lamp post to guide me for the next few blocks. I’d probably missed the last bus, considering how late it was. 

And so, I pulled my jacket against my side, walking the few blocks back to my house on 20 Forthlin Road. 

— 

I barely had even stepped through the front door when I’m hit by my father’s accusatory “Where have you been?” I shrug in response, dropping my bag to the floor and shrugging off my coat. 

“I’ve been worried sick about you, Paul! Called the neighbors and no one had even seen you come home. I was worried, it’s much past the hour when you normally get home!” My dad rushes over, fussing over my wind-blown hair, before he envelopes me in a warm hug. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, trying not to crumble into a puddle of tears again. 

“I went and saw mum,” I mumble into his shoulder, wrapping my arms tighter around the man, hoping that would be enough explaining to not have me grounded. I didn’t really know how long I was gone, I’d been lost in her company, and the next thing I knew the sky was pitch black. 

A melancholy, “Oh,” leaves my dad’s lips, he pulls away from our hug. I look at him, the outlines of his face blurred by the thick, glassy layer of tears threatening to spill down my face. I tried to blink them away quickly, not wanting to be pressed more on the matter. “I-I just wish you would’ve said that’s where you were going, I wouldn’t have been so worried,” he gushes further, ruffling my hair again. I shrug. 

“Sorry, Da.” I offer, my voice hollow with the tears that I was still attempting to keep at bay. I wanted to spill everything, I did, it was just hard. My dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on most things, things were so black and white to him, his opinions often cut and dry without so much consideration. He was painfully decisive, overthinking was something that simply did not exist in the mind of Jim McCartney. However, I could spend the entirety of a day just… lost in thoughts. 

I took after my mom in that fact, we were emotional creatures, thinking with our hearts, not so much our heads. Sometimes, being led astray by the beating muscle in the center of our chest, and we’d always pay the price for it. And, this  _ plague _ of the brain and the heart not working together was something that my father simply did not understand. 

This whole situation, to him, would be boiled down to the fact that John had hurt me, George had hurt me, Pete had hurt me, etc., and thus, the easiest thing to do would be to cut them all out of my life. Simple as that. In the head of Jim McCartney, the solution to the entirety of this problem would be to cut it off at its source. 

My mum would’ve been much more… sympathetic, she was always incredibly understanding in seeing the reasonings behind the way that I felt. And, I couldn’t, at least in this particular moment, deal with the idea that my father would not understand. He’d be angry with all of them, not understanding the way that my chest  _ ached  _ at the idea that so many people hurt me after I put my heart on my sleeve, being so  _ open.  _

And that was my problem, as well as my mum’s problem, we lacked the ability to be cold, calculating, and closed off, being so  _ painfully _ open. Always. 

“It’s okay, kid,” he sighs, grabbing my bag off of the floor, thankfully not pressing further. As open as I’d been, since mum died, thankfully I’d become much more aware of my unapologetic tolerance, and I’d been able to master the skill of being able to hide stuff from my father, not wanting him to pester me over things like this. Stupid instances where I let my heart lead, rather than my head. 

I nod apologetically, silently acknowledging his worry and continuing my trudge up the small carpeted staircase. I didn’t bother picking up my book bag or my shoes which I’d left in the doorway, I simply headed up to my room to get some much-needed alone time. 

__

I don’t remember falling asleep. I must’ve laid down on the bed and somehow been lulled into slumber, because when I awoke in a cold sweat, still dressed in my clothes from that evening, jeans and all. I hadn’t even tucked myself under the sheets of my bed, I still had my coat and my wool socks on, but I’d still found a way to doze off. 

I don’t remember the dream really, but I know that I had one and that it was enough to wake me. I blearily blink my vision into focus, pulling back the curtains on the small window by my bedside to look outside. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky was getting pink at the edges, so I knew it was at least close to dawn. I rolled over to look at the clock on my nightstand, it was 7:56 am. Incredibly, it was actually a reasonable time to get up, I suppose all of the crying I’d done yesterday had tired me out enough that I’d slept for who knows how long. 

My eyes felt dry, like I’d gotten sand in them or something, but I knew that it was probably just the side effects of spending the greater part of my Friday evening crying. That also explained the dull ache at the front of my head, behind my eyes. If I didn’t know any better I’d probably blame the way I was feeling on a rowdy night out, but considering that I’d spent yesterday getting strangely heartbroken and then going to visit my mother… that’s probably not considered a wild night out with friends.

I can hear Michael moving on the other side of the wall, no doubt getting up for the day. He was always quite the early riser, which tended to be quite annoying when I attempted to sleep in. However, I figured that trying to go back to sleep was futile at this point, and getting up for my day was probably something that I should get around to doing. 

After changing out of yesterday’s clothes, throwing them in my laundry hamper, brushing my teeth, and combing out my hair, I headed downstairs to the kitchen. Mike was at the kitchen table, intently reading the back of a cereal box, blockading himself from the rest of us. My father stood at the window sill, coffee mug in hand, staring out the window at the orange sun that began to peek through the horizon line. 

“G’morning, Jem,” my father greets me, his voice unusually chirpy for the early morning hours. 

“‘Morning, Da,” I reply, walking to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. I breathe in the strong scent of the coffee, walking over to the fridge to grab some milk. 

“Need you to run to the store for me today,” my father explains plainly, not even posing the statement as a question, as if to give me a choice. “I’ll give you the list and all, but I’ve got work to do and Michael’s got bandy practice,” he furthers, turning around and looking at me sternly.

There was no point in trying to argue, after all, I didn’t have anything to do today save practicing and studying for my exams, so I nodded in agreement, taking a long, slow sip of my coffee. 

“Thanks, Jem,” my father says gratefully, clapping me on the shoulder, walking over to where the grocery list was pinned to the refrigerator, tearing it off and giving it to me. “Be home with the groceries by four, if you can, “ he instructs, handing me the sheet of paper. 

“Oh! And, would you mind throwing dinner on afterward?” He asks, placing his empty coffee mug in the sink and moving towards the exit of the kitchen, most likely to go work in his study. 

“Sure, Da,” I agree, doing my best to sound chipper about the whole thing, when really the last thing I wanted to be doing was running errands for my father. But, it was probably good that I had something to keep me busy, so as not to think about everything that had all come crashing down in the past couple of weeks. 

__

The last person, aside from probably John, that I wanted to see at Tesco was Ringo Fucking Starkey, yet here he is, trying to chat with me in the middle of the goddamn soup aisle. 

“Paul! Absolutely tight seeing you here!” He exclaims, a basket full of miscellaneous food items, he’s dressed in ridiculously baggy pants and a flame patterned button up. I mentally face palm, knowing I’ve got to play nice. Ringo was the closest thing I had to a friend at St. Edward’s, he was actually a really cool guy, but he was also John’s best friend… which made him guilty by association, if you know what I mean. 

“Yeah! You excited for holiday break?” I ask, hoping to keep the conversation as far away from John and I as possibly, no doubt Ringo knew something (probably too much). 

“Yeah, totally… listen, Paul,” He says, the volume of his voice dropping significantly, as he takes a step closer to me. I sigh, looking down at the floor… here it comes. 

“Yeah…?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him, trying not to look too annoyed. 

“John told me about what happened-” he whispers, and I cut him off.

“Fucking ‘course he did!” I murmur sharply, cringing at the fact that I was getting cross with Ringo, when the only person I  _ should  _ be angry with was John. “Sorry,” I apologize, quickly trying to backpedal, so as to not turn the situation sour.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about what you saw and… you don’t deserve that, dude, and if I were you I’d be just as angry, man.” he exclaims, moving his hands around wildly, the food in his basket rattling around with his rapid motions. “But, like, John’s… makin’ himself sick over the whole thing, dude. He’s like… he really likes you, Paul,” Ringo rambles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

I scoff, “Well, I don’t mean to shoot the messenger, but if he wants to apologize then he should definitely do it himself and not send his friends to do his dirty work… like usual,” I spit angrily. “I appreciate you trying to clean up his mess, Ringo, but if he really wants to fix things, then he should be doing it in person, not through you.” I grumble, my face softening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to shout at you,” I defend myself, lamely. I shrug past him after that, saying, “Sorry, but I’ve got groceries to shop for,” I explain, moving to exit the aisle. 

__

After putting some soup on the stove, I’m startled suddenly by the wall phone. 

“ McCartney residence, Paul speaking. Jim’s out right now, but I can take a message,” I sigh into the receiver, the well rehearsed message spewing out before I can really stop it. 

“She’s gone, Paul. I promise, we’re over. She’s out,” a familiar, nasally voice murmurs on the other line. I roll my eyes, moving to put the phone back on the hook. But, just before putting it back I hear a faint, pleading “Please don’t hang up, my love,” through the speaker. I roll my eyes. 

“Why not?” I ask, my voice even, annoyed.

“Please just, let me talk, let me come talk to you in person! Paul, baby, let me explain.” John pleads, his voice soft, with a hint of roughness behind it. He’d been crying. 

“You know what… I’d absolutely love an explanation, you absolute ass,” I grumble, placing a hand against the wall, leaning onto it.

“I-I don’t even know where to start, I just want you to know how fucking sorry I am.” He cries, his voice cracking.

“How can I even trust you? I know we were never really… together, but, John, I wanted you. I wanted you all to myself and I thought you wanted that, too! But then you’re still sleeping with people even after you said-” I’m nearly shouting into the telephone by now, anger taking over my tone. 

“I just need time, baby!” John exclaims, I can clearly hear the desperation in his voice. 

“I’m tired of waiting John, I want to believe you so bad-” I sigh, but John cuts me off. 

“Then believe me, paul. Let me show you! Let me prove it!” This time he’s shouting, almost talking louder as if that will allow him to get his point across more efficiently. 

“Listen to me, John. You were in fuckin’ bed with Cynthia!” I growl, my scouse accent finding its way into my angry ramblings. “And what about my old friends, John! I know george’s parents work for yours and it’s just… I don’t want them to be right about you… I don't want them to be right about me, John. I don’t want them to think im horrible I-” I’m rambling loudly into the headset and I can feel the heat rising to my face. 

“Paul, you- you’re undoubtedly one of the best people I’ve ever met! And anyone that doesn’t want to be a part of your life is-is insane! Which is why I can’t let you get away like this… I fucked up so bad, Paul.” John says, his voice getting awfully quiet at the end of his statement. A strangely deafening silence settles over the line. 

“Do you want to go for a drive?” John asks after what feels like hours. 

“I can’t just… I just put dinner on the stove,” I explain, sighing deeply. 

“Leave a note.” He suggests, and I shake my head. 

“John I can’t just leave the stove running with no one home! And, as much as I really want to hear your explanation, I just can’t-” I trail off, not believing that I was actually thinking about agreeing to all of this.

“Listen, my dad got a new car and left the keys, do you or do you not want to go cruise the city with me?” John asks, giving me a strange sort of ultimatum. “I want to make this right, angel,” He states, earnestly.

I sigh, weighing my options

“Fine.”

__

John picked me up in the sleekest car I’d ever seen that managed to be the ugliest yellow color known to man. It was ungodly to look at, the lemon yellow contrasting against the sleekness of the car. He tells me that it’s a 1957 Ferrari 250 California Spyder, but honestly, that literally means nothing to me. However, I couldn’t deny that the powerful pur of the engine did wonders for me, making my heart speed up as John’s pulled out of my driveway. 

John gets me my favorite cheap Chinese food from a shop near the house, saying that we can eat and discuss things once we find a place to park. Eventually, we end up in the small parking lot beside a local park, which John affectionately called Strawberry Fields. 

“Let’s move to the back seat to be able to eat better, hm?” John suggests, handing me the plastic bag full ofChinese take-out containers. I nod in agreement, moving myself to the back of the car, admiring the plushness of the leather seats. 

I’m distracted only by the loud rumbling of my stomach, I blush in embarrassment, realizing that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. John smiles at me, opening one of the containers, handing it to me, along with a plastic fork and a couple of soy sauce packets. I thank him, setting the container between my legs, beginning to wrestle with one of the soy sauce packets in a weak attempt to get it open. 

“Careful, lovey don’t spill soy sauce on the seats. Dad would rage,” John chuckles, taking the packet from my hand and tearing it open gracefully with his teeth.    


“Sorry,” I giggle, almost forgetting for a moment that I was upset with John. But, I wanted so badly to enjoy this moment, I shove a forkful of noodles into my mouth, rather than dwell on the circumstances. 

I watch John lift a piece of orange chicken into his mouth, carefully chewing, smiling softly at me. I smile back. 

“You know… my mum and I used to go out like this… before she… ya know,” I explain, lifting another heap of noodles into my mouth. 

“Yeah? I bet you miss her, hm?” John answers, mouth still a little bit full of a bite of his chicken. I laugh at him before answering. 

“So much. Everyday.” I state, plainly, taking another large bite of noodles, slurping one of the longer ones into my mouth. 

And then John’s laughing, like  _ really laughing,  _ the kind of laughter that made me remember why I’d fallen for him in the first place. “What’s so funny?” I ask, beginning to giggle as well, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him. 

“You’ve got… sauce, all over.” He chokes out between laughs, putting the pad of his thumb into his mouth, wetting it before moving it to wipe the sticky sauce from the side of my cheek. I blush, suddenly unable to meet John’s gaze as he works at removing the sauce from my face. He leans in closer, smiling as he rubs his thumb harder along my cheek.

Before I really know what I’m doing, I lean in and peck his lips softly, feeling the annoying heat bloom in the center of my chest. “Oh my fucking god,” John whispers, a little bit of laughter permeating his statement. 

“What?” I shrug, biting my lip. “Wait! Is there more food?” I ask frantically, wiping my face with one of the napkins from inside of the plastic bag. John laughs again, the rich sound almost like music to my ears. 

“No, love. You’ve got it.” he chuckles, leaning back in and kissing my lips again. 

We become enveloped in silence, only the sound of our plastic forks scraping against the paper of our take-out containers filling in the quiet. I steal glances up at John occasionally, flushing when our eyes meet again. 

Soon enough, I’m reaching the bottom of my container, scooping up the last few remaining noodles and shoveling them into my mouth. 

“Paul, I think I’m in love with you,” John suddenly states, as if it’d just dawned on him. My take-out box and fork hit the floor of the car. 

“You _what_?” I exclaim, mouth full of noodles. I choke them down, my head snapping toward John in absolute disbelief. 

“I love you. Paul baby, I fucking love you. So much,” John breathes out, his eyes glued to mine, his food discarded similarly to the floor of the car. 

“I-John oh god! I love you, too. So much,” I exclaim, completely and utterly stunned that John had said those words,  _ let alone said them first.  _

Before I really could track what was going on, I was melting underneath of John’s touch. His lips planted firmly on mine, our kiss a bruising mess of teeth and tongue, the aggressiveness of the whole thing feeling completely  _ new.  _ There was a strange sincerity in the way the flat of John’s tongue laid across the underside of my jaw, an earnestness in the gentle tugging at the hem of my tee shirt, a foreign, open honesty in the hungry hands that roamed the majority of my body. 

The empty take-out containers are quickly forgotten as we undress, quickly tossing clothing aside, unable to keep hands off of each other. I can’t help but shiver under his touch, his fingertips still cold from the frostiness of the outside air. “Sorry, poor circulation,” John giggles, biting his lip and leaning back in to gently kiss my lips. I roll my eyes, shrugging and pecking his lips lovingly in response. 

His touch moves from flat against my chest to up around my neck, his hands cradling the back of my head as he lays me back against the soft leather interior of his father’s new car. “Been waiting too long to tell you, couldn’t bear to lose you,” He murmurs softly against my lips. “I-I shouldn’t have let Cyn put me in bed like that I was so stupid, my love, I really shouldn’t have-” John sighs, and I could tell he was really broken up about the whole thing. 

“Hey- I said I love you back, didn’t I?” I laugh, relishing in the sweet expression on his face, his cheeks rosy with the rising heat of the situation. Seeing as we were both in just boxers, practically naked, it wasn’t an ideal time to be pouring out your heart. “And all that stuff- John I want to trust you. And, god, I’m telling you right now that I’m willing to put my heart out on the line for you! I was coming to your house when you were in bed with Cynthia to tell you that I was in love with you.” I explain, bringing a hand up to John’s cheek, placing it there. “I don’t understand why you did it, and I do not want to know. And quite frankly, I’m not sure I even know why I trust you at this point…” I trail off, looking down, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. 

“And- and now I’m here ready to fucking give myself entirely to you just because you told me you loved me, and I- I feel like-” I suck in a breath, feeling so fucking  _ scared  _ in front of this man, suddenly. I find myself recoiling away from this man, suddenly aware of how  _ naked  _ I was, feeling incredibly  _ open,  _ once again, my heart placed right on my sleeve for this boy. “I feel like I must love you a little too much, John, because I must be a glutton for punishment, right? I just keep coming back for more when you- when you hop in bed with another girl, but somehow it’s all worth it for me because it’s  _ you, John.” _ I whisper, feeling a rush of heat to my face, wetness to my eyes, my thin wall crumbling. 

“Oh angel,” John murmurs, dropping our foreheads together. “I-  _ fuck  _ \- I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you my darling, my sweet Paul,” he frantically cups my cheek, almost trying to help me relax, to stop me from cowering away, to keep me from having second thoughts. 

“You’re so right to be upset with me, baby. I deserve it, and- I- oh god, Paul I was so scared.” He murmurs, sadly. “I was so scared of this  _ feeling _ I was having for you, sweetheart, I was terrified. I’ve never felt this way before… I was scared to let my walls down, honey. You know me better than anyone, better than my own fucking parents, and that scares the living hell out of me, Paul.” He cries, sitting back, running a hand through his hair. 

“Why?” I ask, softly, reaching out to grab ahold of his hand, interlacing our fingers in an effort to try to soothe John. 

“I- honestly- I didn’t think love existed. I see my parents in this loveless mess of a relationship, Ringo’s parents fight all the time, Cynthia’s parents are divorced, so are Amber’s, Stu’s dad is gone, I- I didn’t think a feeling like this was made for anyone…  _ especially not someone like me,”  _ the last part of John’s phrase comes out as a choked whisper, and suddenly I’m all in. 

“John.” I say softly, squeezing his hand in mine, “I want  _ this _ , I want  _ you _ . I love you, John Winston Lennon, and even through everything, that was what scared me the most. I knew you could break my heart a million fucking times and I would still  _ love you.  _ Because, babe, it’s all  _ you. I fell in love with you, John,”  _ I state, dumbfounded at the words that just tumbled out of my mouth. I was thinking with my heart again. But, it was the truth either way, even if my brain didn’t have much to do with it. 

I could almost physically see John let his guard down, his stiff posture relaxing, a sheepish grin spreading over his face. I was captivated by the beauty of John, the real John. Until now, I was sure I’d seen glimpses of it, in the crinkles by his eyes when he laughed at my stupid jokes, the soft kisses he’d place on the tip of my nose after sex, the focus on his face when he’d be drawing something, or the peace when he played guitar. He was beautiful. 

“I promise, Paul my love, I promise you that I won’t let you down. I will love you to the best of my ability, baby. I want… I want  _ us,  _ and I want to know right now, if that’s okay,” He cries, almost as if he’d been holding his breath, waiting for me to say something. 

And there it is, a second shot at this whole thing. A chance to do it right, without fucking everything up. A chance to make this all how it’s supposed to be. “John…” I whisper, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss. “As long as I’m with you, it’s more than okay.” I sigh, melting into a flood of more soft pecks, John’s soft hands cupping my face, being almost too delicate with the whole thing. 

“Paul, I want you to take my virginity.” John declares, suddenly looking deadly serious. I raise an eyebrow, chuckling softly at the prospect of taking John’s virginity. 

“What virginity, John? You’ve had more people in your bed than I’ve probably ever met!” I laugh, grinning up at the boy. He winces slightly, probably not proud of that fact. 

“Paul. I’ve never… you know, done it with someone… like where it mattered. I’ve never made love…” He whispers, beginning to press soft kisses down the side of my jaw and onto my neck. A shiver rolls down my spine at the thought of getting to please John for the first time, getting to completely drown myself in him for the first time, for  _ real _ . I was lucky enough to get something of John’s that no one else would even dream of being able to have, something that he was giving to me  _ for the first time.  _ I could be his first for something that meant everything. I would be John’s first love. 

“Oh,” I whisper softly, shuddering at the feeling of John’s experienced mouth suckling at my collarbone. “John, I would be more than happy to take your virginity,” I choke out, fighting back a whimper as John scraped his teeth along the gap between my neck and shoulder, my chest filling with the same warmth I’d always felt from John, but this time intensified. 

John and I made love for the first time in the back seat of his father’s brand new car. He pressed soft kisses to my face for almost an hour after, as we sat, just talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

John once again promised me that one day he’d run away to a tropical island, accompanied only by the art, the music, the crash of the waves, and of course his lover. He promised me that when he ran away to said tropical island, that if I wanted, I could be said lover. Obviously, I agreed. 

John dropped me off at my house well past curfew, walking me up to the front porch, giving me a soft kiss before I went inside. He promised me that he’d call tomorrow, stealing a few more kisses before dashing back down the porch steps toward his father’s car in the driveway. Just before I fully twisted the door knob on my front door, I heard him call my name. 

“Paul!” He cried, throwing his hands up dramatically like a giddy little kid, the sleeves of his reflective coat catching under the moonlight. I can’t help but laugh, letting go of the door knob and facing John fully. 

“I love you!” He exclaims, triumphantly, pumping a fist in the air, with a genuine, honest-to-god smile plastered all over his face. 

I let out a harsh laugh, the “I love you, too!” Leaving my mouth before I can really even grasp that it’s doing so. 

“I love you!” John calls again, throwing open the door of the car and climbing inside.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, the heat of my breath causing a steam to be visible in front of me. I finally turn around, twist the door knob, quietly opening my front door, walking inside, leaving the chill of the December night behind me, reveling in the warmth of a new-found love that was right in front of me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what u all think ??? aaanyway ! thank you all so much for reading i adore u all !! xx AND COME TALK TO ME ON TUMBLR !! IM SO LONELY [ idk if that link will work so my user is some-foreign-band :-))](some-foreign-band.tumblr.com)


	13. you should see me in a crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to meet the parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe wish i would’ve written this around Christmas time :( o well ! sorry that this TOOK SO SO SO LONG ! appreciate you all heaps and i hope you’re still enjoying the story so far ! ONLY THREE CHAPTERS LEFT HOLY MOLY !! i am back to uni tho so hopefully they’ll be up soon enough !! sorry this is unedited x !

Without the positive events of the weekend, I reckon that exam week would’ve been a right mess. Having John around in a positive light sure did make things easier. I mean, I was never the most academically driven pupil, sure I always did my best, but it wasn’t always so easy. John took exams in stride, helping me study and revise, and before I knew it, the week had come to pass. All it felt like was a couple of stressful exam-filled days, overshadowed by moments filled with hushed “I Love You's”, wrapped in the thrill of “going public” with our relationship (you know, holding hands and all that). It wasn’t the usual agonizing thousand year journey to get through finals. It came and went, and finally, it was our holiday break. 

The flurries of snow that continued to drizzle down from Liverpool skies didn’t seem to dampen anyone’s mood, though. It seemed like every student was just itching to leave school. 

John was definitely no exception, he had me up against the side of his car and his tongue in my mouth mere moments after we exited the doors of St. Edwards. I was left gasping for breath as he finally pulled away from me, I noted the way that his eyes darkened in a way that was all too familiar to me. I knew what that look meant. 

“Where do you want me?” I whisper, softly brushing flakes of snow from the ringlets of curls that draped across John’s forehead. He smirks, and in that moment it was almost like John grew horns. When he got like this, his halo disappears, the little devil on his shoulder takes over, and it’s almost as if he’s a different version of himself entirely. I knew and loved this side of him, and after all of the time we spent together, I knew just the words to get him to act the way that I wanted: rough and controlling, just how I liked. 

“Let’s go park somewhere,” He grunts, immediately attaching his lips to mine again, his kisses vicious and unrelenting. My back is pressed flush to the side of John’s car, my hands tangled in his hair, his hands running up and down the length of my back, occasionally squeezing my ass. 

Quite honestly, I didn’t really even notice that there were other people around, you know because we were sucking face in such a public place. It wasn’t until I heard someone let out a wolf whistle, and a chuckle, followed by a “get a room”. I broke the kiss again, looking around to see the source of the voices. It was embarrassing, I didn’t want people seeing me doing something so intimate with John… chaste pecks to the lips in public are fine, but he seemed to be taking this whole PDA thing to a new level. 

John attempted to keep kissing me, but the mood had kind of been shattered. And I guess, due to my unresponsiveness to kisses on the lips, he took to kissing along my cheeks, eventually sucking at my neck. “John…” I plead, tugging softly at his hair, hoping that he’d get the message. Although I couldn’t see anyone in my direct line of vision, I could tell that people could see us, and I wouldn’t really appreciate everyone from St. Edward’s seeing John giving me a massive hickey. 

“Right… right,” He breathes, coming back to peck my lips again a couple more times. “Sorry,” He whispers, rubbing the tip of his nose against my own, a devilish smirk still present on his face. 

“I get carried away with you,” John murmurs, placing a soft hand underneath my chin, tilting my face up to his, pressing more gentle kisses to my lips. “You know how I get, no one makes me feel as good as you, darling” He furthers, obviously trying to butter me up. Although I couldn’t really complain, it was most definitely working, seeing as a blush spread over my cheeks at the simple praises. 

“M-me, too,” I gasp, feeling John place the palm of his hand against the front of my trousers. He smirks at me, the smugness in his expression almost making me faint right there. And as if things couldn’t get more embarrassing for me at that moment, John began softly rubbing circles on the front of my crotch, palming me delicately through the front of my school trousers.

I bite my bottom, holding in a moan as John runs a finger along the outline of where my cock sat, semi-hard, in my khaki pants. I’d been unfortunately hard for the majority of the time we’d been against John’s car. I think all it took was him slamming me against the car door for my dick to react. 

Hell, sometimes I think John could simply look at me, and I would probably get hard. 

“Can we…” I bite back a moan as John squeezes my length through the fabric. “Need you,” I whimper, feeling my hips jut against the flat of John’s hand. 

John’s sly smile only became (somehow) more smug, “Needy now, are we?” He asks, his tone deep and sultry. I nod eagerly, only to be met with more pressure against my crotch. I bit my lip  _ hard _ , trying my very best not to make sounds that were loud… well to be fair, it would’ve probably been better to just not make noise at all, but here we are. 

“We should get out of here, huh?” He whispers, snaking his hand up my back, only to thread his fingers through my hair. “Seems like you want  _ something  _ from me,” he sighs, tightening his grip on my hair. I let out a quiet whimper as John tugs at my hair, the roughness of it all getting to be too much in our current setting. 

“Please…” I beg, glancing at John with pleading eyes, I wanted him so bad, just not here. 

“Strawberry Fields, then?” He whispers, and a shiver runs down my spine. We often hid out in the parking lot of a local park near my house, it was quiet and secluded, and we had sex there probably too many times. 

“Strawberry Fields, Johnny. Please-” I blubber, basically a puddle at John’s feet by now. It was rather deplorable, really, the fact that he had this kind of effect on me. I thought that the feeling of being trapped under John’s thumb would fade over time, but it’s stayed the same… actually, the feeling was probably stronger now, especially when John would say those three special words. 

It’s almost as if the phrase “I love you,” practically bent me over itself. But it didn’t bother me; in fact, the more that it happened, the more that I was beginning to like it… love it even. 

“Get in the car,” John’s command rings loud and clear, even the tone of his goddamn voice sent chills down my spine. 

I get in the car. Quickly.

__

Our time at Strawberry Fields was spent exactly as I’d hoped it would go. John went down on me, and then he fucked me roughly in the back seat. There was nothing that I would’ve enjoyed more than that in this instance, or probably ever. 

Even the after-glow of it all was incredible, John looking absolutely radiant as usual. It’s after sex that the devil in him slips away, replaced by some kind of entity that gives him a goddamn halo. This boy was angelic, there was no other way to describe it. 

I run my fingers through his hair, loving the way that the rough curls feel on my fingertips, gazing at  _ my lover.  _ I could call him that now, and it was still just as surreal as a week or so ago when he first told me that he loved me. Incredible. I felt as though I could have stayed there forever, just admiring this celestial being, this angel on earth.

I relished in the sound of his soft breathing, almost purring, the way that he lay against me, eyes closed, resting. It was times such as these that I felt so incredibly confident about everything, about John and I, about who I was. It was when he was in my arms, this undeniable love hanging in the air. 

John speaks suddenly, breaking me out of my trance-like state. “What are your plans for December 23rd?” He asks, looking up at me from where he lay against me. 

“I don’t think anything, why?” I reply, continuing to card my hands through his curls.

“Would you like to come to the Christmas Party for my dad’s company?” John begins, moving off of where he lay, sitting up to be able to look at me properly. “You’ll have to meet my bastard father and it’s incredibly boring and I’ll need some good company. I only take the best.” he states, cocking his head to the side, his bottom lip jutting out, as he bats his short lashes at me, pleading. 

“I’d love to!” I exclaim, almost jumping at the fact that I’d get to meet John’s parents…  _ John’s parents. _ They were these abstract, larger-than-life figures to me at this point. I’d heard about them scarcely, but it seemed that John chose to not speak of them much. A grin spreads over John’s face once the words left my mouth, and he’s quickly engulfing me in a hug. 

“On one condition though!” I nearly shout, pulling away to look John in the eyes. “Only if you’ll come to my house on the 24th.” I request, looking at John sternly. “My da’s cooking a ham and you’d be damned not to have some,” I explain, loving the way that John’s cheeks went a bit pink at the prospect of meeting my father formally. 

“Oh? I don’t want to intrude, sweetheart it’s really no-” he exclaims, but I cut him off quickly. 

“No! I want you there,” I promise, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “And I’m sure my dad would love to be able to retell his stories of being in the army and meeting my mum to someone who hasn’t heard it ten thousand times.” I explain, laughing. John laughs, too, but I can tell he’s still a little bit hesitant. 

“So please… say you’ll come?” I plead, now it was my turn to bat my eyelashes. I fluttered them at John, putting on my puppy-dog eyes, hoping they’d do the trick. 

John lets out a heavy sigh before reluctantly stating, “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

— 

When the 23rd rolled around, the two of us decided to get ready together at John’s house. He explained that he had a surprise for me, and didn’t want it to get ruined in the car ride to my place, but he also didn’t want me to have to take the bus. So, as convoluted as it was, John picked me up at around 3 p.m. in his cherry red Jaguar XJS, proceeding only to take me back to his own house. 

I had my one good button up, a tie of my dad’s, and a pair of dress pants from church that John had bought me at the mall a month or so ago. It wasn’t ideal that I didn’t have a full suit, but John told me not to worry about it, kissing my lips softly as soon as I got into the car. 

I soon knew why, upon entering John’s room there were two suits hanging up against his closet doors. One was a white blazer with matching slacks, a black belt, a pressed black button-down shirt, and white tie. The suit hanging next to it was your typical black suit with white button-down, black belt, and black tie. I squint back at John, knowing that one of these was mine. 

“John.” I scold, folding my arms across my chest and shooting John a glare. He puts his arms up in self defense. 

“Baby… don’t look at me like that! I  _ wanted _ to do this.” He defends, walking over to the freshly pressed suits. “And… the theme is black and white, and I just didn’t want to stress you out about a stupid theme.” 

I look at John next to these stupid suits and just nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry… I need to work on my- I need to work on being okay with you giving me things.” I confess, walking over to where John was standing. 

“I just feel bad because I can never pay you back… for all of this  _ stuff.”  _ I say, motioning to the bag I had brought with me, and to the suits. John laughs, shaking his head and walking over to me. 

“Angel, you pay me back every day. And, I go out and buy you things because I love you! And... maybe I need to work on… not smothering you,” he laughs, planting a soft kiss to my forehead. 

I lock eyes with him, grinning sheepishly. “Thanks,” I murmur, puckering my lips for a kiss. To which John leans down, gently pressing our lips together. It’s sweet and chaste, but I can’t help but smile. 

“Which one’s mine?” I ask against John’s lips before pulling away to glance back over at the suits. 

“Black,” He replies, leaning back in for another kiss. “I have a million and one black suits, so I figured it was only right that you have at least one good, classic black suit,” he explains, attaching our lips together again. 

I hum into the kiss softly, bringing my hand up to John’s cheek, feeling some slight stubble growing over his jaw. I rub my thumb over the ghost of a five o’clock shadow, deepening our kiss slightly. I feel John’s hands move from the back of my neck to the sides of my torso, eventually squeezing softly at my hips. 

I groan softly, turning my head to get a better angle, feeling John’s tongue slip into my mouth. I feel a sense of pride bloom in the center of my chest, John was getting greedy, wanting to deepen the kiss more. His hands move past my waist, squeezing softly at my ass. 

I yelp softly in surprise, breaking apart from the kiss. John’s grinning back at me, his eyes lit up a devilish copper color, the mischief clearly present in his smirk. “Sorry,” he whispers, biting his lip.

I blush, “Nothing to be sorry for,” I murmur, leaning back in, wrapping my arms around his neck. I whisper a soft “I love you,” against his lips before continuing the kiss. 

The groan John makes when our lips finally touch again shoots straight to my dick, and if we didn’t have to be dressed and ready to go to the venue within the next hour, I’d probably be bending over right here. “We can’t do this now,  _ my love _ ,” he whispers, his sultry tone only making me melt even more. He softly grips at my ass again, before moving his lips back to mine to suck softly on my tongue. 

I whimper, a shiver running through me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I-I know, John-” I barely choke out, forcing myself away, blushing at the ridiculousness of that entire situation. We should be able to control ourselves, we’d been seeing each other and doing this for a while, but yet, it was hard to keep my hands to myself. 

I grin at him, taking in his appearance. I’d ruffled his hair, his eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide, his eyes blazed gold, and his lips were swollen. “Let’s get dressed,” he sighs, running a hand through his tangled curls. I nod, chuckling as I watch John try to adjust himself through his trousers as he walks over to grab his suit off of the hanger. 

“Not funny,” he deadpans, but is smirking at me in a matter of seconds. “Okay… kinda funny…” he laughs, walking back over to where I’m standing with my suit in his hand.

__

We arrived at the venue no problem, it was incredibly luxurious, just as I had expected. However, John made everything seem not as daunting, taking my arm in his, marching us into the large room. This ballroom type of area was full of snobby rich people smoking expensive cigars and drinking expensive liquor. This was John’s life.

“Ready to meet my mum and father?” He asks softly, letting go of my arm, and reaching out to brush over my lapels. I shrug in response, not feeling incredibly confident in that moment. 

I wipe my palms on the front of my slacks, John motioning to the area near the bar where his parents were standing. They looked just as stately as I’d imagined, dressed in fine clothes, with well manicured hair and shoes, everything being immaculately chosen, even down to the cuff-links on Mr. Lennon’s jacket. My mind was racing with the amount of questions that they could possibly ask me.  _ Did they know about me? Did they know John and I were together? Did they even know that John liked… men? _

I didn’t realize that I was holding my breath until I  _ heard _ the heavy breath leave my chest, a full, loud exhale. I feel John’s hand move to the small of my back, the pressure that he put there not doing an incredible amount to alleviate the nervousness that I was feeling. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” He whispers, lips ghosting against the shell of my ear. “I told them to be on their best behavior,” he promised softly, placing a warm kiss to my temple, his touch moving from the small of my back to around my waist. 

“My mum is gonna love you,” he assures me, lips still softly pressed against my temple, nose buried in the hair on the crown of my head. I shake my head, still unsure, looking down at myself. My suit fit well, I was wearing a pair of John’s borrowed shoes, and it wasn’t that I was insecure in my appearance, it’s just that  _ these were John’s parents.  _ These were some of the wealthiest, most uptight people in all of Liverpool and I felt like they could  _ smell _ my family’s lack of wealth, even when it was covered up by an expensive suit and overpriced leather shoes. I felt like I was incredibly out of place, almost a wolf in sheep’s clothing type of situation, like I was dressed up to play the part, but it was a shoddy attempt to cover up who I really was. And who I was definitely did  _ not  _ fit in this type of environment. 

“Listen,” John says into my ear, moving to hold my hand soothingly in his. “You are so fucking important to me, so no matter what they think,  _ I love you.  _ And that’s what matters, isn’t it?” He asks, squeezing my hand in his. 

I nod, “I-I’m just… nervous,” I breathe, glancing back over to where John’s parents are standing. I hear Mr. Lennon’s booming laugh, which scarily matches John’s, his salt and pepper moustache moving wildly as he converses with another couple standing opposite them. John’s mother is stunningly beautiful, her long, red hair reaching the middle of her back, her eyes the same caramel color as John’s. I could see John in both of them. 

John chuckles breathily from beside me, “Oh come on, darling,” he whispers, pulling me across the room by the hand that he held in his. I could only then take note of how clammy my hands were, how loud the blood rushing through my ears was, and how strong the thrum of my pulse was in my veins. I was shaking.

As we walk over, I see Mrs. Lennon’s gaze move to us, and she’s quickly abandoning her husband to rush to where we are. She’s got a large grin spread over her features and I can hear the rattle of her jewelry as she’s moving as quickly as she can in the tall heels that she’s wearing. She’s engulfing John in a huge hug, kissing his forehead, ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, the works. 

“Johnny! You made it!” she exclaims, her voice sweet and high-pitched, I can smell wine on her but she doesn’t seem drunk. I breathe out a sigh of relief as I realize that she wasn’t the woman that I was imagining. She wasn’t a stiff, prim and proper woman, who turned up her nose at people like me. She was a real person, a wife, a  _ mother.  _

“Oh!” Mrs. Lennon gasps, quickly moving her attention to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders, her eyes intensely studying my features. I see John in her face, his kinder features on display in his mum’s face, especially the eyes. “You’re not Ms. Powell.” She states plainly, turning her head slightly sideways, further taking time to look me over. 

“No- erm- I’m not,” I sigh, not really liking the fact that this is the first place that our conversation is going. Quite the introduction on my part. “I apologize, Mrs. Lennon. I-I’m Paul...” I say, my statement trailing off as I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. I couldn’t bear the fact that his parents thought that she’d be in attendance tonight, that Cynthia was what they wanted: a girl was probably what they expected, what they wanted, not me. 

“That’s quite alright, dear. Never cared for her much anyway,” Mrs. Lennon chuckles, squeezing my shoulders assuringly. “And  _ please,  _ call me Julia if you’re going to be sticking around?” She proposes, her tone light and inviting. I nod, eagerly. 

“Yes, Julia,” I answer, the first name feeling strange on the tip of my tongue. Being on a first name basis with anyone in the Lennon family besides John felt…  _ strange _ to say the least. 

“Thank you for having me.” I add as Julia turns back to her son, directing her attention- thankfully- off of me. 

“Of course, honey!” She chirps, going back to fussing over John, saying something about how the starched white suit looked so  _ flamboyant _ and that he looked  _ silly,  _ but rounded out the statements by calling him handsome. There was so much love in her touch and gaze, I could see why John spoke scarcely, yet fondly of her. She radiated a lot of the things that I missed about my own mother, just being around her brought me a strange sense of security, her aura being just enough to calm my nerves some. 

That is, until John’s father made his way over to where we were standing, his strides confident, his posture too straight, his steps much too confident. He carried a glass of scotch in his left hand, his large wedding band made extremely evident against the short glass of brown liquid. 

“John!” He exclaims, clapping John on the shoulder a little bit too roughly for my taste. “Who’s your friend?” He asks, his accent thickly posh, his breath smelt of cigar smoke. My stomach felt incredibly sour all of a sudden. 

“Dad, this is Paul.” John explains, motioning to me, wincing slightly as his father’s grip tightens on his shoulder. A flare of anger rises in my chest, watching my love struggle under the grip of his father, I feel my hands clench into fists at my sides as I brace myself. 

“Dad, he’s uh-” John swallows thickly, looking at me, his gaze loving, but pleading. “Dad, Paul’s my boyfriend.” He states matter-of-factly, and I see a hint of insecurity flash behind his eyes, he was just as nervous as I was. I hold out my hand to Mr. Lennon, desperate in that moment to get his grip off of John. 

“Yes, erm, interesting,” Mr. Lennon says, removing his hand from John’s shoulder, but ignoring my outstretched hand completely. “It’s nice to meet you, Paul, so glad John has  _ friends _ like you,” he spits through gritted teeth. I try to stand my ground, maintaining the harsh, but awkward, eye contact.

“You too sir,” I say, bringing my hand into my pocket, awkwardly. 

“So... delighted you could make it,” he says, but I could tell that he was most definitely  _ not  _ delighted that I could make it. I glance nervously at John, but his eyes are fairly vacant, something was… off. 

“So glad to be here, sir.” I further, nodding at him, glancing frantically back at John. I see Julia elbow Mr. Lennon gently in the ribs, almost as a reminder that this was their son and someone that he obviously cared about. I was so confused by the dynamic of the entire thing. 

How could someone as sweet and lovely as Julia be married to someone as… harsh… as Mr. Lennon. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. 

“So, what do your parents do!” Mr. Lennon quickly asks, much too loudly, and I feel John flinch from beside me. If it weren’t the exact environment that we were currently in, surrounded by strangers and John’s very obviously homophobic father, I would’ve reached for John’s hand, but at the moment, it felt inappropriate. John’s gaze was still strangely distant, like the engine was running but there wasn’t anyone behind the wheel. He was there, but not really. 

“Oh it’s just my dad, and… he uh... he works at the docks,” I explain, trying to keep my tone as amiable as possible, not wanting to ruffle any feathers further. 

“The docks? What the hell are you doing at st. Edward’s, then?” He scoffs, taking a large sip of his drink. I wince.

“Alfred!!” Julia exclaims, gasping, knocking her purse against his midsection as an obvious warning. He reaches his free hand out, grasping her forearm, obviously not going to stand for the way his wife was acting. 

“What! Julia! It’s just a truthful question!” he defends, releasing Julia from his grip. 

“Oh I’m- I’m on a music scholarship...” I murmur, but I could tell that Alfred was listening, but I could tell that he didn’t care in the slightest. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth further, my gaze flashing over to John who still continued to stand vacantly, his stare still blank, his eyes slightly glassy. 

“You know that’s not a sustainable career, Paul. If you wanted, we could get you working for me in no time! You could easily get a job working at Lennon and Company! I think it’d probably suit your kind of folk quite well-” Alfred tells me, his tone strangely joyous, until John cuts him off. 

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up, Dad! Oh my God! Are you serious?” he shouts, grabbing my arm. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he grumbles, sliding his hand down my arm, interlacing our fingers. 

Before I know it, John’s dragged me away from his parents, despite the pleas of desperation from his mother. His grip on my hand gets tighter and he leads me away from the open bar to a round table at the corner of the room. It’s covered in a silky white table cloth, with a large candelabra in the middle of the tabletop, the candles are black and match the rest of the decorations around the large ballroom, the candelabra is silver and seems to match strangely well with the large chandelier in the middle of the room. 

John pulls out my chair for me, allowing me to sit down before he joins me sitting down at the table. He slips one hand in mine and uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. I squeeze his hand softly, hoping to alleviate some of the stress that he was probably feeling. I now understood the reason that he talked about his parents the way he did. I couldn’t imagine growing up with a father figure like that one, I mean sure, my dad could get a little uptight sometimes, but nothing in comparison to the way that Alfred operated. 

“Sorry about him, I... I should’ve better prepared you for what he was going to be like...” John apologizes, squeezing my hand back softly. “I knew he’d wind up saying something offensive I just wasn’t sure what or who it would be about,” he says, running a hand through his well styled curls. I could tell that he was on the verge of tears from the way that his voice was shaking, and I felt my heart clench in my chest.

I was in awe of the fact that he was still apologizing for things that he obviously couldn’t have controlled. John Lennon  _ blossomed _ from a place that obviously gave little to no nurturing value, the John that I had come to know is kind, loving, artistic, creative, and  _ loving.  _ He was everything that his father wasn’t, there was simply so much to fall in love with, so much to be appreciative of, so much to cherish. God, did I love this boy. 

We sat in silence for a while, John staring off into space, my thumb stroking softly against the back of his hand. I wasn’t going to rush him to talk, and honestly, I didn’t really know what there was to talk about. So, there we sat, hand in hand, only the thump of the music to really distract from the deafening silence between us. 

After what felt like hours, John finally speaks. “Do you remember when I talked about running away to Hawaii with my money, my lover and my music?” He asks, looking at me in the eyes for the first time since we’d begun talking to his father. His eyes were dim, a dull brown, the light and charisma robbed from behind them. 

“Of course, why?” I reply gently, trying to be as considerate of him and his feelings as I could be in this moment. 

“Now that you’ve met my bastard of a father do you understand?” He chokes out, the ghost of a tear falling down his right cheek. He quickly wipes it away with the back of his free hand. 

“I suppose,” I agree, reaching to wipe at his cheek, even though he’d attempted to wipe away the tear, it merely spread the water across his face. “So, what’s stopping you?” I ask, skimming my thumb along his cheek. “I’m supportive as long as I get to come along,” I chuckle, smiling softly at him. 

“My mum. I can’t leave her alone with him, Paul. I couldn’t do it to her.” He whispers, his gaze dropping to the floor. And suddenly, it all clicks. 

“Is he hurting her?” I ask, softly, almost inaudibly. 

“No. He doesn’t do that anymore really.” He explains, and my stomach drops.  _ Anymore.  _ “Once I got big enough to defend both of us he um… yeah that stopped,” John murmurs, his voice shaky. A big, fat, wet tear rolls down his left cheek, and he looks away from me sheepishly. “This-this wasn’t how I wanted tonight to go, Paul… I’m so sorry,” he whimpers, his voice choked and watery. I swear that in that moment, you could’ve heard my heart shatter in the middle of my chest. 

“Hey.” I say, squeezing his hand, trying to get him to look up at me. “I love you,” I state, but at that point, it wasn’t a statement, it was a promise. 

“I love you too, Paul,” he sighs, his voice still wobbly. I squeeze his hand. 

“I’m serious though, Johnny, if you run away you’ve gotta take me with you,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood some. He laughs, cracking a weak smile. 

“Of course, my love. You’re the first thing I would pack,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me softly. 

—

Christmas at the McCartney’s was obviously much less eventful, but for the first time since mum had passed away, it felt…  _ whole.  _

John and Michael hit it off immediately, not to anyone’s surprise, seeing as John knew just enough about Liverpool Futbol to earn his trust. My father liked John from day one, but it was touching to watch my father attempt to teach him how to cut the ham and how to bake the fruitcake. It was nice having him there, I enjoyed his company, and I could tell that the other members of my family did, as well. 

As the night came to a close, my dad asked me to play a few Christmas Carols on the piano. This was the norm, before mum died, she and I would sit down and play piano duets of various Christmas Songs, and even after her death, the tradition carried on. Except this year, instead of my mum sitting next to me, I had John. 

I instructed him on what notes to play, and we played a shaky duet of Joy to the World, much to my father’s delight. After a few more poorly played Christmas-related numbers, I told John that I would give him his Christmas present. 

“It’s not like a  _ real _ gift though,” I explain, shuffling through my handwritten sheet music to find the piece that I’d written for John on the fateful night that I realized that I was in love. 

“That’s okay, baby. Anything you get me will be wonderful,” He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. 

“I wrote you a song,” I explain, keeping my voice sort of hushed, knowing that Michael and my father were in just the room over, probably washing dishes. 

“You wrote me a song?!” John exclaims, excitement present in his voice. He scrambles back to the piano bench to sit beside me. “That’s incredible! Can I have a listen?” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. Taking a deep breath, I begin to play the opening chords, eventually beginning to sing the words that felt all too precious to me, now. 

_ If I fell in love with you _

_ Would you promise to be true _

_ And help me understand _

_ 'Cause I've been in love before _

_ And I found that love was more _

_ Than just holding hands _

_ If I give my heart to you _

_ I must be sure _

_ From the very start _

_ That you would love me more than her _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone wanna teach me how to make this into a uh,,, series ???? like how do i add this to one of those thingies on here im a clueless cretin who does NOT KNOW HOW TO USE THIS WEBSITE :-( anyway appreciate u all to bits !!! follow my useless new tumblr @ some-foreign-band !


	14. xanny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and John try to combat grief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiii OMGGG ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT WOWOWOWOWOW !!!! but worry not my sweet angels, i definitely have more in my back pocket than i am letting on ! stay tuned for more and let me know what you all think in the comments :-)) appreciate you all heaps and heaps !!! u can always reach out to me on tumblr if you wanna BE FRIENDS ??? user is @some-foreign-band
> 
> QUICK NOTE! EVERYONE DEALS WITH GRIEF DIFFERENTLY AND I DO NOT WANT TO CAST ANY SHADOWS ON ANYONE DEALING WITH REAL TRAUMA OF LOSING A LOVED ONE! Hope you all are having a wonderful day or night wherever you are and thank you so much for reading. appreciate you all endlessly <33

Things were so good. Like  _ incredibly _ good. The last few months had been  _ so… good.  _

_ There’d felt like nothing could possibly ruin what we had. I was in love.  _ We’d spent countless hours together, just  _ being,  _ and I should’ve known that there was something that could’ve sent everything spiraling to shit. It was almost too good to be true ya know? 

It felt like I was starring in some kind of reality television show, like everything felt like it just clicked in the most magical of ways. There was barely a moment that passed when I didn’t feel like the luckiest boy in the world. John took me to countless restaurants, movies, plays, the works. He took me driving in his car, was teaching me to play guitar, and escaped back out to his aunt’s cottage by the sea with me for a weekend. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, this warm, inviting passion for this boy that I was slowly picking apart day by day. 

However, John never stopped being an enigma, there were still a lot of things that we differed on, or just didn’t understand each other on. There were an abundance of differences within each of our lives that neither one of us could understand because we hadn’t lived it. Yes, we bickered. But didn’t everyone? 

“You have no idea how hard it is,  _ darling _ , so don’t even start,” John gibes, rolling his eyes at me, dropping a sugar cube into my tea. He hands me the short, white mug, I took it from his hands carefully, not wanting to burn myself. 

We stood in my kitchen, leaning against the cheap linoleum countertops, drinking our afternoon tea, just chatting about the week’s upcoming events. John had to attend another event with his parents, complaining about having to spend the entirety of a week down in London, surrounded by the rich and snobby. I scoffed at him, explaining that he shouldn’t be complaining about the whole thing, I’d never been further than Manchester, which I was still grateful for, but the fact that John had the audacity to complain about getting to travel and see more than Liverpool began to wear at me. 

“Oh,  _ sorry.  _ Travelling to big cities and staying in grandiose hotels must be  _ so trying,”  _ I mock sarcastically, throwing him a glare. I blow across the top of my mug, trying to cool off the tea before taking a sip. I still ended up burning my lip and tongue, tensing up my shoulders as the hot liquid scorches the inside of my mouth and throat. I wince, but John doesn’t seem to notice. 

“It is tough! I would think you’d understand after what happened at Christmas… after an incident like that, I thought you’d understand how absolutely  _ awful _ it is to have to spend any time with my parents.” John snaps, setting his mug on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, defensively. Still dealing with the burning sensation that the much-too-hot tea had caused, I quickly shake my head, trying to get my tongue to cooperate in my mouth and form the words that I wanted. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I sputter, turning toward him, placing a steadying hand against the top of the counter. “I just… you know I get jealous sometimes of the things that you get to do,” I murmur, trying to make my tone take on a soothing note. I didn’t want to bicker with John, we had plans to do some fun stuff today and I didn’t want our relationship to go to piss just before he went away for a week, and I wouldn’t be able to see him in person. It was just starting to warm up, and we planned to take a trip to Strawberry Fields, possibly taking a walk and enjoying the warm spring that was developing. It was just reaching mid-March, and I couldn’t bear the thought of going into the end of the school year in a fight. 

“I just… you have to keep in mind that I… Johnny, I don’t quite get the same kinds of opportunities that you do… and it- it sort of hurts my feelings when you complain about getting to do so much stuff that I-” I try to explain myself, after the occasional screaming match, I’d learned that John can be a hothead. I mean, I had heard rumors that he had quite a temper, but our honeymoon phase lasted so long that I was convinced that I’d never see that side of him… or that the angry side of him that people spoke of simply did not exist. 

Unfortunately, I had been wrong. The first time I’d ever seen John get angry was quite the  _ experience.  _ It was kind of like the phenomena that I think about a lot, John’s halo disappearing. I remember it was a cold night in January, just after school had gotten back in session, I’d watched him absolutely lose it on Stu. 

It had been ugly, a kind of ugly that I didn’t think that someone as utterly immaculate as John could possess. Sure, I knew about his silver tongue, his devilish charm, his subtle ways of manipulation, and his ability to get jealous, but this side of him was one that I had yet to see. It was jarring, watching his face turn red, his hands ball up into fists, his breaths becoming heavier and less frequent. It was almost as if the John I knew had been taken over by the John that I had heard about, the one that was quick to snap, easily frustrated, the one that was  _ angry.  _ I wasn’t scared of John in that moment, per say, but I was definitely made painfully aware of the fact that there was an undeniable, ineffable rage that coursed through John’s veins. 

I’d avoided this as much as possible, but I hadn’t avoided it forever. It was only a couple of days after his fight with Stu that we’d found ourselves in the middle of John’s enormous kitchen screaming back and forth. I, honestly, didn’t really know what we were even fighting about, John probably projecting some sort of other problem he was having within his own life onto me and our relationship, as usual. 

John was shouting, waving his hands about wildly, the hint of a vein in his forehead making itself known with the amount of force he was putting behind his words. The volume of his voice, and the meaning of the words altogether, seemed to fade into background noise for me, as I walked over to where John was standing. Saying nothing, I reached out a hand, placing it on his cheek. He was still yelling, probably, but I couldn’t hear it at that point. 

“John,” I’d whispered, stroking a thumb gently over the short stubble on his jaw. “John,  _ what are we even fighting about _ ?” I asked, softly, watching his sentence trail off as he finally looked me in the eyes. I knew that I often acted as a pacifier for John, when he’d get frustrated with anything, usually if I was present, that meant that he’d be on his best behavior, putting away his bad habits, even if it was only in front of me. 

I watched as his demeanor softened, attention focused on me, rather than the situation. “Let’s not fight,” I remember whispering, and suddenly his lips were on mine, his hands and movements as hungry as they always were. 

And as always, the sex was  _ incredible _ . That’s one thing that never seemed to change, no matter how hard we fought, how tired we were, how upset either of us were, what have you, when John had me in bed it was a  _ religious experience.  _

I watched John take a deep breath, unfolding his arms, reaching a gentle hand out to place it against the side of my face. I watched John’s halo reappear, the simmering frustration underneath the surface of his stony composer eventually dissipating. “I-I forget sometimes, baby. You know that…” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb across my cheek. “I need to work on that,” He hums, I grin at him.

“It’s okay,” I chirp, softly. I enjoyed how far we've come in the past few weeks, as tough as it was, I found that we were learning to talk through things, learning to be civil, learning to  _ be.  _

As much as I was a de-escalator for John, I could be the opposite. Sometimes, it was like we were catalysts for each other, this strange pull between us igniting a powerful surge of passion and emotion. There were tears and screams, sure, but more than that, there were laughs and smiles. Every moment was so incredibly worth it when I spent it with John, there wasn’t a day that went by that I regretted falling for him. 

We weren’t perfect for each other, but who was? We were in love and that was what mattered, at least to me, anyway. 

“I love you,” John murmurs, leaning in to kiss me. I beam at my love, closing the gap between us, our lips meeting in a chaste peck. 

“I love you, too,” I chuckle against his lips, the tips of our noses brushing against each other. 

In usual John fashion, after a slight scuffle, he often results to covering me in kisses, cupping the sides of my face, peppering it in soft kisses. I wasn’t dumb though, I knew where this was going. I’d probably end up bent over against the side of John’s bed in a matter of moments. 

But I couldn’t complain. 

_ I loved it.  _

__

John’s mum passed away from a sleeping pill overdose sometime during the night on March 28, 1995.

It blindsided the both of us. 

John rang my house early on that Tuesday, long before my alarm was set to ring, long before I had planned to get up and get ready to go to school. The sharp ring of the cordless phone jolted me awake, it was on the small nightstand next to my bed, John and I had been on the phone until about 10:30 the night before, and I had simply been too lazy to return the wireless phone to its proper dock. But, I was thankful for my laziness in that moment, quickly answering the phone with a groggy, “Hullo? McCartney Residence, Paul speaking.” 

I cleared my throat, listening for a reply, almost hanging up the phone and placing it back on the night table, thinking maybe it was some kind of prank caller. However, after a few agonizing seconds of silence, a shuddering breath was heard through the receiver of the phone. A shudder turned quickly into a loud sob, and unfortunately, a sob that I recognized all too well. 

“John!” I gasp, suddenly wide awake, hearing the brokenness in the sobs that I could practically feel in my own chest. “Johnny baby, what’s going on, my love? Talk to me,” I command, feeling my heart clench as I hear another loud cry leave his lips. 

“She-She’s  _ dead!”  _ He chokes out, another loud sob crackling through the speaker on the phone. I shake my head, trying to make some sense of the broken sentence.

“Who’s dead, baby? What’s going on? Where are you?” I ask, frantically, now fully awake, sitting up in my bed, flicking my bedside lamp on. I pinch the bridge of my nose, holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder.

“She’s gone Paul. She’s gone! And I-I couldn’t do anything to stop it! It was an accident-” He cries, a heavy breath audible through the speaker. I still didn’t know what he meant, but I recognized this undeniable distress in his voice. I’d never seen or heard him be like this before, sobs so violent he could barely get the words out of his mouth. 

“John, baby. What happened?” I ask again, soothingly, not wanting to add to his stress, but I simply couldn’t help if I didn’t know what was going on. 

“It was a sleeping pill overdose, my d-dad! He was leaving for work and she- she wasn’t breathing, Paul! She wasn’t- she’s  _ gone, _ ” John heaves the words, as if saying it out loud was heavier than the weight of the world. 

And then I knew.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered, mostly to myself, feeling my heart drop into my stomach. 

Julia was gone. The one person that John held close to his heart, the one woman who meant more to him than fancy cars, nice clothes, guitar, music. The one person in his life that I could  _ never _ be. A role that I simply could not play.

I could be a friend, a school-mate, a lover, a form of family, but I could never give him what he needed from Julia. I could never give him the unconditional love of a mother. 

I could never give him that kind of love. 

And now, it seemed that there wasn’t anyone who could. 

__

We struggled through the funeral. John was distant, standing next to his father, stone-faced. I couldn’t blame him though. In the past couple of days, all I’d been able to do was hold his hand while he either cried or stared off into nothingness. 

It was often the latter, his eyes drifting from me to something else in the room, often it seemed that he was seeing something that I was not. I knew his mind was wandering, it just felt wildly inappropriate to try to understand what was going on in that head of his. I knew he needed space, but I couldn’t bear to leave him alone.

Even going to school was tough, John was in no shape to try to attend school, staying home and laying in bed, usually sleeping or simply staring at the ceiling. I would often take the bus to John’s after school, joining him in his bed, allowing him to wrap his arms around me, laying his head atop my chest. We’d lay in comfortable silence.

I sometimes wondered if I was doing what I was supposed to be doing in this kind of situation, you know, spending a lot of time with the grieving person. But, every night when I came dangerously close to missing the last bus, I’d reluctantly tell John that I needed to leave, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head. It would often be the first words I would’ve spoken in hours, petting at the crown of his head, promising that I’d be back tomorrow.

Any doubts that this wasn’t what John needed was quelled with the tightening of his arms around my midsection. “Not yet, please.” He’d beg, his voice barely reaching above a whisper, groggy and dry from not talking for the entirety of the day. 

“I’ll miss the bus,” I’d whisper, shifting from his grip, pressing a few more soft kisses to his forehead, before slipping out of his bed and grabbing my bookbag. 

__

A week and a half passes and John is still a vegetable. He still refused to get out of bed, doing the bare minimum to even try to take care of himself. It wasn’t until I was laying with him on a Friday evening, fully intending on spending the night, softly petting at his curls, when my fingers ran into a knot in his hair. And then another, and another. Just trying to play with John’s hair was causing him more pain to him than relaxation. 

“Bubba,” I whisper, “How long- when did you last brush your hair?” 

He merely shrugs, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. “Showered two nights ago, got too… tired,” he responds, his voice still barely above a whisper. I nod in understanding.

“What- do you think we could run you a bath? And I could help you maybe get dressed? We could maybe go eat something?” I ask softly, rubbing my thumb softly along the length of his arm. I thought that maybe it was time to try something different.

I understood how grief could completely consume a person. But, there comes a point when it’s time to try something else. 

“I- would you help me?” John asks softly, looking up at me from where he’s laying. I nod eagerly, sitting both of us up. 

“Let’s try to take care of you, yeah?” I say, climbing out of John’s bed, holding a hand out to him, in an attempt to help him out of bed. “Should we take a nice bubble bath in the master bath?” I ask, thinking about throwing some bubble soap in the huge claw foot tub in the master suite. 

He shrugs, sheepishly looking up at me, and asking, “Would- can you get in… with me?” 

I see the pleading look in his eyes and there was no way I could say no, this was the sweet boy that I loved, this angel among mere men. And in this moment, he needed me, and I was fully prepared to help in whatever way I could. 

It was about five thirty or so, the sun hanging low in the sky as we enter the master suite. The room looked and felt emptier than usual, John’s father made himself quite scarce after Julia’s death. You would think that someone that lost their wife would stick around long enough to make sure that they didn’t lose their son, too. However, it seemed that Mr. Lennon did not think in that way. 

The huge marble, clawfoot tub in the bathroom was clean, practically sparkling, an array of soaps and shampoos were displayed in fancy bottles on a shelf above the tub. I turn the tap on, sprinkling a scoopful of bath salts into the warm water, followed by a little bit of soap to make the water bubbly. 

I start to undress, instructing John to do the same, smiling softly at him as I drop my trousers. It was strange, being in front of him naked, like when we weren’t… you know. It felt way more intimate, somehow, even though this was a man who had fully stuck his cock inside of me. But, here we were, fully naked, sinking into the warm water.

We sit there for a while in thoughtful silence, letting the warm water wash over us. I sit cross-legged, facing John, who had his legs draped over my crossed ones, laying up against the side of the tub. After a while, John sits up slightly, “It’s gonna… it’ll get easier, won’t it?” he asks, suddenly.

I’m stunned by the question, taking a minute to think about how to word my answer. “It… you- there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.” I say, knowing that that was fully the truth. Almost three years and I still miss her like it’s the first day I lost her. “But that doesn’t mean that this feeling lasts forever,” I promise, reaching out a hand to grasp at John’s under the soapy water. 

He nods in silent understanding, looking up at me. “Can we get some food after this? I… I think I really want… Chicken Cottage...” He says, his confession ending in a light giggle. 

“ _ Chicken Cottage?  _ We’re about to leave your house for the first time in a week… to get Chicken Cottage…?” I ask in disbelief, chuckling at the boy sitting naked across from me.

He laughs, a real laugh, not tainted by tears or sadness for the first time in what felt like ages, and responds, “I- I just want it, okay? It’s good!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up in self defense, flinging a clump of bubbles towards me. 

I snicker, “Whatever you want, bubba.” I promise, scooting closer to him. “But for now, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

__

I’d never actually sat inside of a Chicken Cottage before, it wasn’t really the kind of fast-food joint where you’d sit down and have a nice meal. But, here we were, sitting down at 8 p.m. to eat some greasy chicken. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever eaten Chicken Cottage whilst sober, so this was definitely going to be an adventure. 

And thus, there we sat, John across from me, digging into a bunch of questionable looking pieces of fried chicken. He looked… okay. Not happy by any means, but we’d cleaned him up some, and he definitely looked  _ better.  _ His hair was brushed, as were his teeth, his face had been shaved, and he put on a real outfit for the first time in almost two weeks. 

It was progress, even if we were sitting in the middle of a fucking Chicken Cottage. 

After a couple of bites, John looks up at me, a cheekful of mediocre chicken evident as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Hey,” he says, a soft smile painting over his features. 

“Hey,” I chirp back, reaching across the table to grab his hand gently, lacing our fingers together. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, and I feel the side of his foot drag along the side of my calf playfully. I roll my eyes light-heartedly squeezing his fingers in mine. 

“I love you, goofball,” I chuckle, placing a soft kiss to the back of his hand, which was still intertwined with mine. For the first time since she’d passed, John smiled. Like fully smiled, with his teeth showing, and left dimple on full display.

“I love you too, angel,” He grins, a soft flicker of light finally beginning to show up behind his eyes. 

__

I thought for a bit that we were doing better, he’d made it through a full week of school, doing his best to put on a mask for those around him. But, when we returned to his house Friday afternoon, he seemed to just sort of break down. 

“Why did it have to be her, Paul?” He sobs brokenly, I breathed out a sigh. This was the first time in a week I’d seen him show any real gravity behind his emotions, it was all blank stares and quiet tears. This was at least something different, it was anger nonetheless, but it was still something different. 

“Should’ve been him! The bastard he is! Or it should’ve been me!” John’s shouting, his paces frantic as he sporadically walks about his large bedroom. I’ve sat myself on his bed, looking at him with silent concern, I couldn’t bring him out of this, this was something he had to handle on his own. All I could do is offer my support if he needed, but right now I didn’t think that butting in was a good option. 

“What does that mean for me, Paul? I’m stuck here with  _ him!  _ He’s done nothing but make our lives a living hell for the past 18 years and now what? My mum has to die for it? She didn’t deserve that! She didn’t deserve any of this- It should’ve been me, Paul!“ John’s footsteps are heavy, his voice loud and unapologetic. I knew where this was going, I could see the rage smoldering under the surface. I watched his eyes well up with tears, his fists clenched at his sides, his lip trembling. 

“Baby-” I whisper, watching him run a hand through his hair, tugging roughly at the matted curls. I could see the wear on his appearance, he hadn’t been taking care of his appearance like he’d so meticulously done in the past. “It’s not your fault, Johnny,” I promise, getting up from where I sat in the middle of his large bed. 

“It’s not  _ fair! _ It’s just not fair, Paul,” he sobs, running both of his hands in his hair, tipping his head backwards, he tugs harshly at the curls near the base of his neck. “It- it should have been me! Should have been my father!  _ Not her! Not her, Paulie!”  _ he chokes out, looking back at me with tears fully streaming down the front of his cheeks. 

I rush towards him, feeling like everything was moving in slow motion, like this was a sequence of events that I’d seen before. It was like one of those moments in the movies when all the music cuts out, and all that’s left in the background is this strange high-pitched ringing, I watched John’s knees give out from underneath him, his body hitting the floor of his room with incredible force. 

Although he didn’t say what he needed out loud, I wanted to believe that I knew what to do in this situation. Hell, we've kind of been through it before, the night she died, this was the exact position we were in. He lay crumpled in an almost fetal position, his arms folded, head on top of them, loud sobs wracking through his body. I sat down beside him, softly placing a hand lovingly on his back. I rubbed up and down the length of John’s back, just to let him know that I was there, I couldn’t put too much into trying to pull him out of the state he was in, we’d just have to let it pass. 

“I wanna make it better for you, baby. I just… I want to take your pain, I just don’t know how…” I whisper, moving his head slightly so that he’d look at me. His opal irises stare back at me, the pain behind those eyes lighting them up in a somber way. 

“I know you’re trying,” he murmurs, blinking a few more fat tears from his eyes. They slide down the sides of his face and I reach out to wipe them away softly. 

“Do whatever you have to, John. I want you to feel better- I want to make this all go away-” I murmur, but I’m cut off by John pressing his lips to mine in a fervent kiss. I knew what he was doing, I knew full well that John used sex to cope with his own issues, but at this point I didn’t have the heart to try to talk it out with him. He’d been through so much, and this coping mechanism wasn’t exactly healthy, but it wasn’t like he was abusing alcohol or anything. I supposed that making love was better than a kind of substance, especially in a loving environment like this one. 

“Make- need you to make me forget, darling,” John pleads, his lips forcefully moving against mine with a passion that he’d been lacking in the past few days. It was nice to see that fire within him present again, even if it was poured into… sex. 

“Use me. Use me if you have to, I don’t- I don’t care-” I whimper against his lips, and the speed and ferocity of the kiss intensified. John sits up, reaching a hand towards the back of my neck, sucking forcefully on my bottom lip, hands roaming greedily at my body. 

Before I knew it, my back was pressed against John’s duvet, with three of John’s fingers in my mouth. It had been a long time since we’d been like this, forgoing lube entirely in favor of spit just for the mere convenience. It was when we’d first begun sleeping together, the roughness of the first few times was  _ intense _ to say the least. It was fucking and nothing more, but we hadn’t gone at it like this since then. Especially since admitting our feelings, it seemed as though the sex was gentler, more passionate: we were making love. 

This was nothing like that, it was rough and demanding. It was  _ hot.  _

John had barely even pulled down my pants, merely pulling them down just enough to have easy enough access. I was ashamed at how his rough movements made me achingly hard, my cock resting against the hem of my tee-shirt, weeping at the tip. 

“Already turned on for me, hm?” he asks, reaching out to roughly tug at my length. “Such a good boy for me,” he grunts, leaning down. I want to respond back, but John currently had two fingers down my throat, and all I could do was helplessly moan around the fingers. 

I feel his thumb press against my slit, and my hips buck up against his hand involuntarily, jolts of pleasure surging through my body. “So eager,” he smirks, taking his fingers from my mouth. I nod eagerly, feeling goosebumps raise on my skin as I feel John’s fingers rub softly over my hole. 

This kind of sex asked for forgiveness rather than permission, it was raw and agressive, we had barely even gotten enough clothes off to do what was needed. 

Afterward, John lay spent against me, the remnants of what we’d done covering my tee shirt and leaking steadily out of my hole. He reached a soft hand up to stroke at my cheek, I relished in the soft flush on his cheeks, his after-orgasm glow making him look  _ radiant,  _ a brightness that I hadn’t seen in a while. 

It was worth it, the pain shooting through my legs and lower back, it was worth it to watch John piece himself back together with familiarity and eroticism. It had been worth it, a little pain, a little pleasure, all to make my boy feel whole. Even if it was just for a little while. 

“I should probably get you cleaned up, huh?” he murmurs sleepily after a while, his hand never moving from stroking at my cheek. I nod, thankfully, watching John go to his bathroom to wet a washcloth. 

“I love you,” I murmur in passing, wincing as John presses the warm, wet cloth against my skin, softly wiping away the mess from before. 

“I love you, too,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of my nose. “And... I really enjoyed that,” he says, biting his lip playfully, but frowning as I struggle to sit up, pain shooting up from my lower back. I feel my eyes water, gripping against John’s forearms as I try to prop myself up. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” I whimper, feeling fully the ache in my back and ass. I watch John’s eyes soften, as he tends to me further, rubbing soft circles against my shoulder, watching me sympathetically. 

“I am so sorry, my love, holy-” he starts, but I cut him off with a kiss. 

“It’s okay, Johnny. It was worth it.” I promise, meaning every word. 

__

  
I thought that would be that, but John was still crumbling out from underneath me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I felt how weak he was, how incredibly unstable everything around him was. The only thing that I felt like was going right was us. As always, John was incredibly doting and loving, but I could tell that something was missing. This wasn’t the same spunky and brassy John that I’d once known. But, I knew that recovery would take time. It always did. 

I knew that better than anyone, it took me months upon months to recover from the passing of my own mother, but that didn’t stop me from trying to help John with his pain. 

He was a mere shell of the bright and bubbly boy he once was, it seemed that there was almost a huge rain cloud hanging over his head, a thunderstorm brewing overhead at all times. And unfortunately, all that we could do at the moment was try to weather the storm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u all enjoyed and thank you so much for reading:-))


	15. i love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul flies too close to the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys sorry this took so incredibly long:( to be honest I’ve really been going through some stuff lately and I haven’t been in the best mental health situation but hopefully i can finish this book up soon ! sorry this update took so long and I apologize if it’s not good ! :-( its much shorter than usual and i apologize but i wrote what felt right, i didnt want to drag it out ! appreciate you all immensely

March quickly bled into April, and April to May, the air was getting warmer, but it seemed that John was only getting colder. The distance between us was growing larger, and the silence all the more deafening, patching over the shoddiness in a shell of a relationship with empty “I love you’s”, which did seemingly nothing but make the gap wider. Exams came and went, filled with scattered piano books, bruising kisses, and empty sheets. And it felt like everything was changing, yet nothing was at all. 

I hoped that summer vacation would benefit John. I mean, he’d graduated high school! He was all set up to go to university next year, he should be… happy. But, since that fateful night, it felt like John was almost a completely different person. Something felt so different. He was so vacant, his laugh tinny, his eyes less vibrant, his cheeks sallow, I could tell something was ragging on him. Our arguments were more frequent, more fiery, the anger that I’d been able to quell for so long seemed to be ever-present, the heat of his rage feeding off of the heat of the sticky summer air. I knew that I couldn’t take his pain away, there wasn’t much that I could do. Every time I tried to help, he’d lash out at me, angry that I was blaming myself for what happened that night. John had this funny habit of always insisting that he was fine, taking a deep breath through his nose, running a hand through his curls, squeezing my shoulder, then proceeding to ignore the topic of discussion altogether. 

He was getting more and more evasive, dodging questions like bullets and avoiding most affection like the plague, and it felt like all I could do was watch from the sidelines. It almost felt like an exhibit at the zoo, like I was watching the entire thing go down from behind a thick barrier of plexiglass, like I was so close, like I could almost reach out. But somehow, I just wasn’t quite close enough. 

I struggled with my mother’s death, I did. I struggled for months, but I took solace in the friends that I had. It took a long time, but I eventually ripped the band-aid off. No amount of grief, no amount of tears, no amount of blaming myself was going to bring her back. And I tried to tell John that, I tried to explain that it gets easier, that it’ll get to the point where you see the good things, but it seemed that he didn’t want to hear it. Or that he didn't care. I wasn’t sure which.

The only way I found myself truly at peace was once I came to terms with the fact that my mum was gone. I visited her grave once a week until I could do it without crying, and I tried to push John to do the same. But, rather than working on pushing through this grief, he’d shut me out, going silent, shutting me up with a bruising kiss or squeeze to my hand.

I started to see so much of his father in him. It was scary, I watched him become a slave to this anger that boiled inside of him. I watched him bloody his knuckles with punches, bloody his nails, biting them so far down that they were mere nubs, he could barely pick up a guitar anymore. It felt like there wasn’t much that we enjoyed anymore, dates turned to innocuous chunks of time spent holding blank stares, sex turned brutal, the lovelessness of it all almost becoming too much.

There used to be so much love enveloped in his movements and actions, the affection he felt for me seeping overtop of the ugliness of the resentment for life itself that he had. He was a nightmare, even before her death, always finding ways to push people’s buttons, to get a rise out of people, but this was different. There was real heat behind the words he threw, something new that made the way he spoke feel venomous. 

Before, you could almost always brush off the things that John said as hollow, and just a way for him to let off steam. But now, this was  _ real.  _ There was a gravity there that kept me questioning whether or not this was all worth it. At this point, I was wondering if it was, spending time with John usually left me feeling empty, feeling drained, feeling lonely. It always left something to be desired, I missed the way that things used to be, so much so that sometimes, I would wish I’d never met John in the first place. 

But almost always, just when I was losing hope, there would be a good day.

They hadn’t been coming often, but they felt like they were becoming more frequent as time went on. It was like after so long, after I was teetering on the edge of throwing everything away, the John I fell in love with would appear. The soft, kind, bright boy that never ceased to crack a sharp joke, that made my heart twist with the flick of his silver tongue. I’d see flashes of that man, and I’d be falling right back into this game that I’d been playing for months at this point. It was like the promise that he could possibly be almost like what he once was, was enough to just keep me holding on, hoping that this would all blow over, that we would weather this storm. 

You know that ancient greek story, about Icarus, the guy who flew too close to the sun? John had always been my star, my beacon, my  _ sun, _ but this time; he’d brought me so much joy, this pure and unadulterated elation that lit me up from the inside. He was everything to me. He was my sun, as unfortunate as that is. Because now, rather than guiding me home, showing me the light, he would destroy me. And that, I was sure of. 

_ Icarus just flew too close to the sun, and I had the unwavering feeling that I was, too.  _

John insisted on taking me out for my birthday, he said it’d be good for us to just get out of the city for a little bit and have some time alone. I agreed, and even after everything that had been going on between us, even after all we did was spend time alone, I thought maybe a change in setting might be nice. 

And I was right. It was a bright sunny Sunday morning, about 11 a.m., when John’s cherry red convertible pulled into the small drive of my house, the top was down and I could see a couple of takeout bags in the back of his car. Even after everything that’s been happening, I still loved John, I still loved spending time with him, I still loved how he  _ tried  _ his best to be who he used to be. He’d put this mask on for me usually, and I really appreciated it. 

It didn’t matter, I always got the same old butterflies for this boy, even if he wasn’t exactly the boy I fell in love with. 

But the minute that John stepped out of the car, I could tell that today was going to be one of his better days. He looked showered, his smile was dazzling as he saw me peeking through the window. I felt this indelible warmth spread from my stomach upwards into my chest. My birthday would be spent with  _ my John,  _ with the boy that I fell in love with. 

I watch him practically skip up the steps to our front door, and I quickly shout to my father that I’m leaving, almost tripping and falling down the stairs to meet John at the door. I throw open the door eagerly, relishing in the way that he looks. It should be considered a national holiday when John looked like this. I quickly throw the door open, grinning at the boy standing in front of me. 

He wore a pair of the ugliest jean cut offs I’d probably ever seen, a white tee shirt tucked into the high waist of his jeans, pulled together with a belt, he wore an old flannel over the top, the collar popped. I snorted at the collar, rolling my eyes at how douche-baggy he looked, especially with the dark aviator-style sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was obnoxiously chewing gum, an old beat up baseball cap was turned around backwards on his head, a few curls peeking through from the band of the cap. He moved the sunglasses up on top of his head, letting me get a good look at his eyes for the first time today. They were radiant, a bright gold color.  _ He looked radiant.  _

“Uh, I’m here for the um birthday boy, do you think there’s any chance you could direct me to him…?” John asks, flashing me a cheesy smile, popping the gum behind his front teeth. I roll my eyes again, letting out an exasperated huff.

“Birthday boy at your service,” I reply, sarcastically, pulling at my invisible skirt to do a little courtesy towards him. I watch his smile grow wider, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his adorable dimple making itself present in his left cheek. 

I quickly pull John into a tight hug, hoping that he’d reciprocate. I’d missed this bubbly, sweet version of the boy that I fell in love with. He quickly wrapped his arms around me, connecting them around my waist, picking me up and spinning me up and spinning me around on the front porch. He sets me down, placing hands on my cheeks, pressing a wet, but affectionate nonetheless, kiss to the tip of my nose. I feel myself blush, it had been nearly a week since he’d been this way. 

“Happy Birthday, my sweet boy,” he whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is sweet, soft, chaste, it's everything that I could ask for. John grins, dropping his hands from my cheeks.

“Can I- Can we get going?” I ask, giddy with the prospect of getting to spend time with  _ this _ John. I lean in, kissing his lips softly a few more times, brushing the tips of our noses together. 

“Yes! Yeah, of course! I found a cute place for us to go to, ‘bout a half an hour from here… ‘s that alright?” he murmurs against my lips, his mouth turned up into a grin. I nod, pressing my forehead against his, gazing into his eyes. 

_ Gold.  _ A rich, blazing gold that I hadn’t seen in what felt like years. 

__

We hit the road, the highway taking us quickly out of the city, John’s hand rested protectively across my thigh, the wind whips at my face, pushing my hair around across my forehead wildly. John’s singing along with the same bland Weezer album, I couldn’t even be annoyed with the song choice, everything felt so right. 

“So, how’s it feel to be  _ seventeen?  _ Do you feel grown?” John asks over the radio, and over the wind whipping at our faces from the speed of the car. “Do you feel… different?” He chuckles, squeezing at my thigh, softly.

I shrug, grinning at him, “Feels pretty much the same as yesterday,” I chirp, taking note of John’s grip on the steering wheel, his side profile looking like some kind of Greek God up against the backdrop of the blurry countryside. 

“If it makes you feel better, you look prettier than you did yesterday, my dear. Get prettier every day, you do,” John hums, removing his hand from my thigh, placing it back on the steering wheel, making a turn onto a gravel road. 

My cheeks flush, “Jeez, mister. Where’d that come from?” I gibe, playfully punching his shoulder, instantly apprehensive for his response. He laughs, his expression lighting up with the question.

“I just think I don’t tell you nearly enough!” He exclaims, peeking over at me, looking over the top of his sunglasses. “Am I not allowed to tell my favorite boy how wonderful he is? Not even on his birthday?” He giggles. 

I almost reach out to pinch myself.  _ “Whatever!”  _ I laugh, smacking his arm, softly. “You just never- I just appreciate it… tha’s all,” I murmur, grinning at him. He hums in acknowledgement, flashing me a small smirk. 

We arrive at an open field-looking area, just off the gravel road after about thirty-five minutes of driving. John puts the car in park, getting out to grab the bags of takeout from the backseat of the car. 

I hurry out to help him, grabbing a bag of food from his arm so that he can spread the blanket on the ground. I finally take a good look at where we are, a grassy field overlooking a rocky beach where the sea has a bad habit of beating up the shore. It was beautiful, the sun gleaming down upon John and I, a few wispy, white clouds floating delicately across our skyline. “This- John this is beautiful,” I gasp, my voice barely above a whisper, so in awe of the setting. 

I watch as the sea rushes in, washing softly against the cream colored sand, bleached nearly white from years of sun and ocean. “Just wanted… I thought you deserved something special for your birthday.” He answers from somewhere behind me, I hear him setting things up. 

I move over to him, helping to unpack the things that he had picked up from God knows what restaurant. It looked like finger food, chips, sandwiches, fresh fruit. I grinned at John, “Thank you,” I mumble, not even knowing how to begin to thank John for this. The view, the food, the good mood, the weather, I simply couldn’t have asked for more. 

“It’s the least I could do, angel,” John purs, leaning in to kiss me again, soft yet urgent, the gentle fervency of the kiss was something that I’d missed, and soon I’m on top of him, the plates of food we’d set out long forgotten by roaming hands and full lips. 

I push the hat off of his head, wrapping soft auburn curls around my fingers, pulling softly at the hair at the back of his neck. John’s strong hands roam up my back ardor present in his actions.  _ “Good god,” _ he breathes into my mouth, strong hands finding their way to my hips, their rightful place. I was in heaven. 

In an attempt to get more comfortable, I find my arms wrapping around the back of John’s neck, accidentally bumping one of the plates full of food with my knee as I rock our hips together. “Whoops,” I pant, breathlessly, feeling John’s grip squeeze tighter at my ass. 

He chuckles, “Whoops,” he repeats softly, breaking the kiss to reach for his discarded cap. He places it atop my head, kissing my lips gently. “Let’s eat, hm?” he suggests, grinning madly at me. “And then, I have a present for you.” He hums, pressing a few more kisses to my lips. 

__

It was about two hours later when I felt the first drop of rain hit my face. I hadn’t even noticed the sky go grey, it had seemed like such a picturesque day to spend by the sea. I sat laying in John’s arms, eyes closed feeling his fingers brush tenderly over my arms. I feel a cool wind sweep over where we are, ruffling the grass and raising the hairs on my arms. Then there’s another raindrop, I feel John tense up behind me. “You feel the rain, too?” He asks, running a sleepy hand across my chest. I nod, dreamily, ignoring the soft misting hitting my face and clothes. 

And it was fine for a few moments, it was all good, and then all of a sudden the sky opened up and it was a downpour. Rain was sheeting down in buckets, wetting the blanket we were laying on, the small bits of food we had left, everything. It was coming down mercilessly soaking everything. “Shit,” I heard John murmur, scrambling up from behind me, “Let’s get all this stuff to the trunk,” he commands, reaching out a hand to help me up. 

I nod, grabbing two corners of the blanket, helping John pick the sopping thing up, with everything held inside of it. We ran, carefully, to where the car was parked, John fumbled for his keys in his pocket, eventually fishing them out and popping the trunk open. We shoved the sodden blanket and its soggy contents into the trunk cavity, and quickly slammed the trunk shut. 

I rushed to get into the passenger’s seat, careful to not drag too much mud into John’s car. He’s quickly climbing into the driver’s side, pulling the door shut, shaking his head, his curls dripping water down the front of his face. I reached a gentle hand to brush back the damp locks of hair off of his forehead, John’s cap that still sat on my own head, shielded me from the majority of the rain that had turned John into a sopping mess. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice taking on the tinny quality that I’d come to dread. I bite my lip, hoping that this entire day wouldn’t go south. I nod in acknowledgement, it wasn’t a big deal. None of this was. It was just a little rain storm. 

“Don’t mention it.” I mutter, placing a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Would you- um- prefer to wait this out… or…?” John asks, apprehensively. “I mean it’s your birthday so like you can pick…” 

“We can go, Johnny. It’s okay. I had a lot of fun,” I say, and honestly I mean it. In the past, a little bit of rain like this wouldn’t have phased him. He would have probably asked me to come dance in it with him, actually. No, that’s exactly what we would’ve done. John would’ve grabbed my hand, dragging me out into the middle of that damn field, spinning me around, as he sang some strange Irish Folk Number that his mother would’ve taught him. 

But it simply wasn’t like that anymore. 

And, suddenly I realized how close to the sun I was. I felt the heat of John’s rays on my face, the blaze of danger coming perilously close to searing the goddamn skin off of my body. I was too close, too fucking close. 

We’re driving, slowly. It’s all so controlled, the entirety of it all, his grip on the wheel, the wheels on the gravel, the rain against the windshield. Everything is so controlled, until it’s not. Until the car is sliding, the wheels swerving out from the back of us, the whole car spinning out. Luckily, John pulls over, the car nestling in a muddy patch of land just off of the gravel path. 

I didn’t realize John was crying until I heard him take his first really ragged breath. My heart clenches in my chest, seeing him lay his head against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking with broken sobs. I’d seen this scene play out before. The roar of the engine, the sound of the rain, and John’s sobs mixed together in a perfect cacophony, making my ears ring. 

“I can’t do anything right, Paul! I-I couldn’t even give you a good fucking birthday, I wonder why you-” John nearly shouts, the roar of the engine nearly drowning out his desperation. 

“John! It’s just rain! Can you just take some deep breaths for me?” I soothe, trying to calm him down. I watch him wipe away the tears with the back of his hand, running a hand through his wet hair. Suddenly, he’s sitting up and putting the car in reverse trying to pull back out onto the road. I feel my stomach tense up as the wheels of his car merely spin and take us nowhere on the muddy road. 

“Oh god. Fuck off, Paul!” He shouts, and he’s pressing the gas harder, causing the car to shoot forward, erratically swerving along the slippery road, the back two wheels of the car swerving out from behind us. I tense my hands into fists, biting my lip harshly. 

This was more than dangerous, John had overreacted before, but not like this, not enough to put either of us in danger. I watch his hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles practically turning white from the choked grip he had on the wheel. I sigh, “Johnny,” I reach out and place a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down some. 

Rather than working like a diffuser, like it normally did, my hand seemed to only fire John up more. He reached out, shoving me away from him. That was the first time he’d physically used his strength to  _ push me _ away from him. My body slams against the side of the car, and it seems that John realizes what he’s done.

“Fuck, Paul I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-” He cries, tears streaming down the sides of his cheeks, his voice shaking. 

“Pull over,” I say, barely above a whisper. I was done. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t do this anymore. This is where I drew the line, this is where I got burned. This is the point where Icarus should’ve turned around, but didn’t. I wouldn’t get burned, not like that. 

“Paul I’m so sorry-” John tries, anguish coating his words. 

_ “Pull over,”  _ I press further

“No! Paul!” he sobs. 

“No, John! Pull over, otherwise I’m getting out of this fucking car. Until you can calm down and not  _ act like your goddamn father,  _ I am getting the fuck out of this car,” I exclaim, slamming my fingers down on the button to unbuckle my seatbelt. 

I hear the doors lock, forcing me to stay in the car, killing my tuck-and-roll-from-the-car plan. “Fuck you, Paul!! Why the fuck would you say that?!”

I sigh, frustratedly, pressing my forehead against the window. “John! I care about you! I’m not gonna let you fall into the same pattern- but I can  _ not keep doing this, I’m practically killing myself  _ over all of this!” I exclaim, my voice cracking embarrassingly. 

“Fuck. You.” John growls, slamming on the breaks. My body lurches forward and I fall from my seat, due to my lack of seatbelt. “My mum’s dead and my dad’s got a new girlfriend! I’ve got a perfect boyfriend! Honestly paul, it’s a lot of pressure having you around, you know that? You literally are  _ incapable of  _ making a fucking mistake!” He shouts, as I climb back onto my seat. “Every goddamn thing you do is  _ fucking perfect _ and me? I'm just me! I'm so fucked up-” he sobs, his body collapsing against the steering wheel. 

“John what…? Where is this coming from?” I ask, suddenly all too concerned with everything. 

“You'll never understand what it’s like! And even after everything I did- you-you stay with me! It’s sick!” he cries, putting a distressed hand over his face.   


“What do you-?” I question, slinking further into the door, desperately trying to figure out how to get the door open. I didn’t like where this was going. 

“Remember when George got beat up? And you didn't know, but Pete was pretty bad too.” He whispers, his demeanor now deadly calm. “Paul, that was  _ all _ me. Your friends abandoning you?  _ All me! _ The reason Cyn and Amber hated you?  _ Because of me!”  _ He shouts, his voice breaking painfully. “Sometimes I wish we’d never met!” John cries into his palms, and my stomach is churning.

This had to end. 

“Unlock the car.” I command, putting my hand grippingly on his shoulder. 

“I’m not done talking.” he barks, angrilly, putting a hand on my chest. I push myself away from him, afraid of what he might do if he could get his hands on me again.  _ Afraid. I was afraid of him for the first time.  _

“Unlock the car, or I’m going to break the fucking window, John.” I state, plainly, balling up my fist

“No paul I'm not gonna-” John pleads, his voice feeling vaguely vulnerable, but I didn’t know what to do at this point. And then I felt it, the prickle of tears at the corners of my eyes, the glassy film of the salty water blurring my vision. 

“ _ Unlock _ the fucking car.” I plead, putting a shaky hand out to protect myself, tugging mercilessly at the door handle.    


The lock clicks, the door flies open, and due to the entirety of my body weight being up against the door, I’m tumbling out of the car, landing in the mud on my back. I feel my chest heaving, and it’s suddenly like I’m drowning in six feet of water. It was too late, just like Icharus flying too close to the sun, I was going to burn and drown at the same time. 

“Paul!” I vaguely hear John shout from somewhere across the car. I hear his sloshing footsteps. John’s beside me, where I lay, sobbing in a river of mud. 

“So much of my life was _ruined_ because of you, John.” I sob, throwing my arms over my face, blocking him away from me. “But it didn’t matter because I love you!” I weep, exasperatedly, finding the strength to stumble to my feet. I scramble away from John, hands up, hoping to keep him away. I couldn’t tell if I was still crying with the rain beating against my face, but it sure felt like it. “Right now, I- John i just really need time to breathe.” I plead, continuing to make the distance greater between us. 

“Where are you going to go! Paul you can’t just-” John shouts at me, clenching his fists at his sides. 

“If you really love me,  _ please.”  _ I whimper, backing up, away from John, back toward the road we came down. There was a gas station less than a half-mile from where I was standing, they had a pay phone. I could make it there. I’d been through hell and back the past few months, I could walk a half-mile, guided by street lamps to a pay phone. 

“I’ll- I’ll call you later, just-” I sigh, waving off John for the final time, watching him trudge back to his car. 

I follow the street lamps to a two-pump gas station that looked like it was pulled straight out of the 1950’s, one for diesel and one for regular petrol. There was a single lamp illuminating the small convenience-store area, there was only one light on inside, only one elderly man working. I fished in my pocket praying to everything holy that I had a dime or  _ something.  _

I reached the payphone, having a single quarter in the pocket of my jeans. I held my breath, putting the phone to my ear, waiting for the dial tone and sliding the quarter into the slot. I didn’t have a whole lot of faith, but it was worth a shot. 

The phone rings twice and then a familiar voice crackles over the speaker. “Hi erm, Harrison residence, this is Paul,” George’s older brother grumbles into the headset. I sigh, hoping that this would work.

“H-hey, Paul. Can- is there any way you can put George on?” I ask, my breath still being held in my chest, I was nervous. This had to work. I hear Paul shout something upstairs to George, through the muffled speaker of the phone. I was still sending up silent prayers. 

“Hey, who’s on?” George asks, his chirpy voice muffled by something that he was probably eating, the smack of something in his gums easily audible over the phone. 

“It’s- George it’s me.  _ Please don’t hang up,” _ I blurt, quickly knowing that he’d hang up and I’d really be stuck. This was so stupid, I was so fucking stupid. 

“You have one minute,” George deadpans, “Then I’m hanging up,” He promises, his voice gravely serious, and I’m sobbing again. Everything that had happened came crashing back down, this was it. 

“I know you- I know you hate me now, but can you- can you  _ please _ come get me?” I ask, my voice cracking in desperation. “Geo, I’m begging, you were right! You were right the whole time, you were right about everything. I’m- Im at the one petrol station near the edge of town  _ please _ , you- George you were  _ so _ right,” I sob into the phone, leaning my head against the harsh brick wall of the gas station, feeling the chill of the pouring rain hit my arm. 

I hear a heavy sigh crackle through the headset, and then a staggering silence. I’m still holding my breath, suddenly so scared that he’d hung up, I open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off by George’s soft response, “I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading !! come be my friend ! my tumblr user is @some-foreign-band !


	16. goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul share a final rendezvous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY MOLY ITS DONE GUYS THE FIRST BOOK IN THIS SERIES IS DONE THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING AND THANK YOU FOR THE CONSTANT SUPPORT!!!!!!! I TRULY COULDNT HAVE DONE ALL OF THIS WITHOUT YOU AND I APPRECIATE YOU ALL ENDLESSLY!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOOOOOODNESS YOU GUYS :")))))))) sorry this IS UNEDITED I AM TOO EXCITED

There were nights in the summer, after a heavy rain, that it feels like the air is sticking to you. It’s like the air is so saturated with the post-rain heat that the air feels thick, the humidity palpable. On nights like these, my hair never seemed to dry after a shower, wilting into long strings sticking to the back of my neck and face. The ink in the paper would run, the glass of water on my bedside table sweating profusely, warping the wood that the glass rested on. It was miserable. I was miserable. 

I didn’t get much sleep these nights, the sheets of my bed sticking to my legs and middle, made damp by my sweat and from the sticky heat. Tonight was no different, it was early in the month of July, I lay awake, staring at my room’s white, popcorn ceiling. It was obviously not ideal, laying in only your underwear, your entire body covered in a light sheen of sweat. 

I wasn’t sure at what point I’d eventually dozed off, I don’t remember even closing my eyes really, but nevertheless, I jolted awake at something, sitting up quickly in my bed, running a hand through my damp hair. It didn’t take me long to realize what had woken me up, some strange tapping at my window just loud enough to make me get out of bed to investigate. 

I rubbed my eyes sleepily, throwing open the window without really thinking. Seeing as my room is on the ground floor, I really didn’t expect to come face to face with a frazzled John Lennon standing just outside my window. My heart just about stopped in my chest in that moment, almost like I’d seen a ghost. A devilishly handsome, all-too-familiar ghost, dressed in a daphne blue tee shirt and the ugliest patterned shorts that I had ever seen. 

In a cloud of heat and drowsiness, all that I can seem to think to say is, “What the fuck are you doing awake?” 

John’s eyes are full of worry, glazed over with something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “I-I had to see you.” He states plainly, reaching a hesitant hand out to move a sticky clump of hair from my forehead. “I-I just needed… needed to see you,” he repeats, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Drinking in more of his appearance, I study the way he’s standing, his posture keening toward me, his cheeks rosy from heat, his messy curls flattened to loose waves by the blanket of moisture that hangs in the air. And, good god, I didn’t know why, but I felt like there was something between us, there was so much that we hadn’t said that night.

But here we were, staring at each other through an open window on one of the hottest nights in summer, and one side of me was screaming to  _ get a goddamn grip.  _ But I couldn’t, something was off, and it felt so wrong to turn him away now. 

“Well… do- do you wanna come inside and talk or…?” I ask, hesitantly, hating the shiver that ran through my body when John pulled his hand away from me, the spot he’d touched ice cold without his warmth. He’s nodding instantly, before the words really leave my mouth, lifting a leg to climb into my room through the opened window. I hold out a hand to help him into the room further, not wanting him to hurt himself or somehow get stuck. 

This was a bad idea, and rationally, I knew that, but the fact that John and I hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks was eating away at me. It was tough, someone that you’d talked to on a daily basis for virtually a year, and then all of a sudden it’s radio silence. It’s jarring, the contrast from the routine we fell into to how we act now. But this,  _ John,  _ the whole situation, seemed to be put on hold for the moment as soon as he got fully inside of my room. 

It was strange, someone who’d become as permanent to the room as my own bed, looking as though he didn’t belong there. He stood in the middle of my small room, his ugly sandals sinking into the carpet as he shifts from foot to foot, awkwardly. “Are you alright?” I eventually ask, cocking my head to the side to look at John who sat across from me, picking at the cuticle around his left thumb. 

“I- me?” He asks in response, his voice somehow jumpier than he was. I nod, reaching out to gently separate his hands, so as to avoid him picking all of the skin on his thumb, peeling it down to the damn bone. He looks up at me, eventually nodding back in response to my question, “Nervous,” he mumbles, softly. 

I hum in response, retreating my hand away from his clasped ones. “Why?” I ask, continually amassing more questions than I had answers.  _ Why was he here? What's going on? Why now? What was he so nervous about? What’s going on? Was everything okay at home?  _

_ What the hell is going on? _

“Paul- I… I missed you,” He murmurs, his voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. “I needed to see you, needed to know I was doing the right thing. I-” He looks up at me, his eyes glowing a timid amber in the dark, illuminated only by the street lamp outside my window. “I was scared of coming, ‘cause I know you’re still cross, but I  _ had _ to see you, my love,” He explains, reaching a hand out, slowingly grasping at my wrist and interlocking our fingers. 

_ Had to see me? Why?  _

“John-” I start, but I’m cut off by him pressing a soft finger to my lips. 

“Shh,” He whispers, his eyes pleading, his hand moving to splay delicately across my cheek. “Just- don’t-” He begs, rubbing his thumb across my cheek, squeezing his other hand against mine. John moves to rest his forehead against mine, the tips of our noses just barely touching, his left hand moving from my cheek to the back of my head, softly playing in the strands of hair at the nape of my neck. His eyes flutter closed, his eyelashes coming dangerously close to brushing mine as we stand in the middle of my bedroom, heads pressed together. 

And I’m not sure what makes me do it, probably the tear that rolls down the side of John’s cheek, but at that moment, I’m looking to comfort him in any way that I can. Leaning forward, I’m pressing our lips together in a desperate attempt to stop the soft rolling of tears down his cheeks. 

“Johnny, baby,” I whisper, peppering chaste kisses against his lips, my hands flying upward to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He lets out a shaky breath, finally finding the means to kiss back, it seems. Our lips move in sync, his hands instantly finding my waist to gently pull me closer to him. I go to deepen the kiss, but instead John pulls me all the way into him, into a  _ hug.  _

Strangely, this hug in the middle of my bedroom felt more intimate than most of the things that we’d done. I wasn’t sure why, but the feeling of being wrapped up in John, his face pressed into my neck, one hand around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head, felt so  _ special.  _ Soon, he was pressing soft kisses to the juncture between my neck and shoulder, and the fact that I’m just in my underwear becomes glaringly apparent, the dew hanging in the air making the crowding of John around me feel all the more hot. 

“Can you just tell me one last time- angel please- even if you don’t anymore…” John chokes out, soft lips against the side of my neck. “Can- can you tell me you love me,  _ please,”  _ he whispers, his voice nearly imperceptible. “Even if you don’t,  _ please,”  _ he begs against my neck, grip tightening around my waist. 

“Oh, John,” I whisper, reaching under his chin with a hand to make him look at me. My heart breaks at the sight of the tear tracks under his eyes, knowing there was  _ so  _ much more to this situation than he was letting on. “I could never stop loving you.” I breathe out, and it was true. I knew, deep in my heart somewhere, that there would always be a part of me that was deeply, madly, truly in love with this boy. 

Before I can say more, our lips are connected again, the gentle nature of John showcasing itself to me underneath the glow of the streetlamp with each soft press of his lips against mine. “Love you,” he whispers against my lips, his hands sliding up the expanse of my bare back, raising goosebumps along my spine, literally. “Love you,” he repeats again, nibbling softly on my bottom lip. And with each passing moment, in between chants of “love you” against my lips, we’re backed up against my bed. 

There’s no fervency to these kisses, only tenderness. There’s passion, but no rush, and it feels like John’s got me in the palm of his hand all over again. His lips are so gentle, and his tongue even more so, the immense love I feel overflowing in the way that I wrap my legs around John’s waist, pulling him down against the bed, on top of me. 

“Are you- is this okay?” He whispers against the shell of my ear, his bony hips angling against mine. I nod eagerly, quickly directing his lips back down to mine, desperate for everything that John was willing to give me; honestly, just pathetically desperate for  _ John.  _

“More than okay,” I gasp, feeling the swell of John through his soft sleeping shorts. I hated how easy I was for him, but it seemed that the tenderness of the way that John was touching me was simply too much. I was already basically naked, and the fact that John still probably had shoes on was upsetting. I tugged at the hem of his ugly shirt that floated somewhere between daphne blue and sonic blue, but looked immaculate against John’s freckled neck and chest. 

He lifted the shirt over his head, exposing his bony chest. John was so angular, especially in this lighting, the shadows bouncing off the hollowness of his cheeks, his jaw intensely sharp under the orangey light of the lamp-post outside. I run a hand down his chest, loving the way that the freckles clustered against his shoulders and collar bones, but spread out over the plain of his chest, getting more and more spread out the further down you went. 

“Pretty,” I remark, absentmindedly, taking note of the blush that coats John’s cheeks and neck. I lean back up to connect our lips, bringing John down to lay flush against me, my hands roaming the softness of his back. 

I hum blissfully, against his lips, feeling our hips rock slowly against one another, our arousal apparent. But there was more than that, a passion, a fire deep in my belly, a  _ want,  _ for John in that moment that couldn’t be satiated. 

_ Love.  _

“I want- make love to me,” I whisper against his lips, almost like it’s some kind of secret that I didn’t even want the universe to know. “Need you to- Want you to-” I ramble, wantonly, feeling more and more desperate for something that had been missing between us for a long time. This passion had been absent for far too long, and the sudden rush of it returning was enough to overwhelm anyone. The fire that had been removed for so long seemed to be back, and with a vengeance. 

“Are you sure- is… is that what you want?” John grunts against the shell of my ear, the flat of his hand pressed against my hip, inching closer and closer to the part of me that was  _ begging  _ for his touch. I feel my hips keen upward, and I can do nothing to stop the whine that leaves my lips. 

_ “Please,”  _ I beg John, arching up off the bed as he moves a hand up across the flat of my belly. It’s almost like his touch is enough to send shockwaves of pleasure rolling off of me. He nods, eventually leaning forward to press a kiss to my lips, then to the front of my throat, collar bones, and down further. 

His lips ghost against the middle of my chest, the tip of his tongue darting out to softly drag downwards. Eventually he presses his lips against my sternum, pressing soft, wet kisses to the soft skin there, reaching one of his hands up my side, pressing a thumb against the peak of one of my nipples. The bud was already peaked from arousal and the pressure there has me writhing against the pressure of John’s touch, my hips once again bucking upwards. 

“John,” I plead, my soft whines ringing out pathetically in the dense quiet of my house. The pressure of John’s thumb against my nipple is replaced by his mouth, softly suckling against the bud, his hands traveling downward to hook underneath the band of my underwear, sliding them down my legs. 

He presses soft kisses to my belly next, then drags the flat of his tongue against the ridge of my hip bone. Pressing soft kisses against the tops of my thigh, I feel John’s hands softly setting to work against my cock that lays hard against my lower stomach. I whimper pathetically, shoving a hand into my mouth and biting down, so as to not wake my dad and brother upstairs. I try to muffle my sounds with my hand, but there’s very little I can do to stop the constant string of sorry moans that leave my lips. 

And then John stops, lifting himself off of where I’m laying, leaning to throw my night-table’s drawer open. I sigh in relief, watching him pull out the small bottle of lubricant and a single condom. I sit up, taking the lube from his hands, and popping the cap open. From past experiences, if I wanted prep then nine times out of ten I’d be doing it myself.

“Darling-” John coos, taking the bottle from me, depositing some lube from the bottle onto his fingers. “I thought you said we were making love,” He whispers against my ear, a shudder courses through my body. 

“Lean back, beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw, placing his fingers tentatively against my entrance. He rubs a few small circles with his index finger, and I feel my hole clench embarrassingly around nothing, and an equally as embarrassing whine leaves my lips.

Soon, he’s working me open, whilst pressing soft kisses against my lips, the gentleness of it all almost bringing me to a shuddering climax more than once; the heat of the moment combined with the consistent pressure against my prostate nearly sent me over the edge on just two of John’s fingers. “If- if you keep this up, Johnny, I’m gonna-” I choke out, dropping my forehead against John’s chest. 

“My, my, my,” He laughs softly, crooking his fingers against my prostate again, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. “Can’t have that, now can we?” He asks softly, easing a third finger inside me, making a point to really stretch me this time, not force me to teeter on the edge for god knows how long. 

I groan when John slides his fingers out of me, leaving me all too empty, causing me to let out a whine that was probably much too loud to be played off in the morning. But my eagerness is eased once I hear the tearing of the condom, I blink open to see John rolling it on. “Are you ready?” He asks, softly, leaning back down towards me. I snort at the fact that he hadn’t even really taken his shorts all the way off, they’re pooled around his knees where he’s kneeling against the mattress. 

“How do you want me?” I ask, all of a sudden timid, blushing under the heat of John’s gaze. 

“Where you’re at is perfect, my love,” He whispers, carding his clean hand through my hair, softly cradling my head in his palm. John leans down, pressing tentative kisses to my cheeks, as he positions himself between my legs.

Ever so gently, John lifts one of my legs so that he can better fit in between them; I take that as an excuse to lift my legs and wrap them securely around his hips, smirking up at him subtly. 

Grinning madly, the love he felt apparent in the way that he beamed proudly down at me. I felt him nudge at my entrance, the blunt head feeling hot and  _ so good  _ against my rim as he slowly eased in. I drop my head back, the incredible feeling of being stretched open enveloping me. I let out an embarrassingly loud groan, immediately gripping around John’s neck as he glides in further. 

“You alright?” He grunts, barely choking the words out through gritted teeth, his eyes closed, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. It was obvious that it was hard for him to keep his cool, the pleasure making him nearly pliant against me.

“I’m fine, baby,” I promise, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, moving the other hand to brush some curls that had fallen in front of his eyes. He’s bracing himself, trying to be much too gentle. Carefully, I tighten my legs around his hips, pushing his hips forward, forcing him the rest of the way in. He lets out a huff of relief, grinning sheepishly down at me. 

“I’m not gonna break, y’know?” I chide playfully, leaning up to peck his lips, feeling all too comfortable having him inside of me. John grins down at me, slowly beginning to move in and out of me, the angle almost  _ just right,  _ but not quite. I let out a huff, collapsing backwards against the bed, hands reaching out to grip the sheets as the pleasure from the snap of John’s hips began to consume me wholly. 

His movements are languid and  _ deep, _ and I almost can’t get enough. My body feels like it’s on fire, electricity crackling off of John’s skin, sparks pulsating through me with every glide of his hips, the warmth building in my belly spreading to every other part of my body. Every thrust is equally deep, varying in intensity, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize what he’s doing. Even in this loving setting, he’s purposely avoiding slamming against my prostate. He’s teasing: drawing me closer and closer to the edge, only to pull back all too quickly. 

“God, John,  _ please,”  _ I beg, reaching pliant hands up and around his neck, clawing blunt nails at the supple skin on his back. My voice comes out pleading and cracks at the end, seemingly sending John the right message (finally), as if my writhing and constant whimpering wasn’t enough. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” He groans. And that was just like him, almost entirely silent save for bits of dirty talk, some swearing, and heavy breathing. But, before I knew it, he had his hands on my hips, thrusting into me harshly, unrelenting. 

It almost feels like my soul’s leaving my body, the initial harsh pressure against the spot that makes me see stars. It was  _ heavenly,  _ John taking on a celestial quality that was hard to put into words, the immensity of the pleasure I was feeling taking over my thought process.

And it’s not long before I feel it, the orgasm bubbling up from the pit in my stomach, my eyes rolling back in my head as John continues to push in and out of me. I whimper, pleading softly with John, wordlessly pleading for him to do his worst. 

“I’ve got you, sugar,” He assures, reaching between us, stroking me a few times as he’s continually slamming against my prostate, and I’m seeing white, my senses completely overwhelmed by the rush of climaxing. 

I clamp a hand over my mouth, the sensitivity of my body and John still working himself to completion making my back arch off of the bed, “John,” I whimper, softy. His body stills, his lips attaching themselves to mine, the feeling of John spilling into the condom familiar, yet still so  _ sexy.  _

“I love you,” is the first thing that he groans against my lips, once he recovers, easing himself out of me. The absence of him making me feel so empty, my hole clenching pathetically around nothing, a choked groan leaving my lips. 

“I love you,” he repeats, rolling next to me, reaching out a hand to turn my cheek towards him, redirecting my gaze, his smile faint but present nonetheless. 

“I love you,” I whisper, almost like it’s a secret, my head lolling back against my propped-up shoulders. John’s thumb softly brushes my cheek, his eyes a sparkling copper, his smile glinting in the dim lighting. 

__

It didn’t take long to clean up, John a giggly mess as we stumbled to the kitchen to get a glass of water, John in sleeping shorts and me in my underwear, John’s putrid shirt hanging loosely off of my shoulders. His arms were wrapped tenderly around my waist as he walked behind me, nose pressed into my hair, fervent kisses pressed to the crown of my head. His soft laughs ring in my ears as he lifts me up onto the linoleum countertop, pecking my lips, grinning. 

He hums against my lips, taking the opportunity to cup my face, peppering my cheeks, forehead and nose in wet kisses. I groan, laughing, a dopey grin spreading over my face, but it didn’t stop the strange apprehension that I felt in the pit of my stomach. 

“John-” I mumble, in between his eager kisses. “John stop-” I command, putting a soft hand in the middle of his warm chest. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m just so… excited,” He murmurs, studying my features intently. “I’m- fuck I’m so sorry, angel,” He says further, the smile still spread over his face looking so incredibly strange, as it’d been absent for so long. 

“Excited…?” I ask, reaching a hand up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m gonna do it,” He whispers, giddy, his grin only growing, a light behind his eyes that simply could not be ignored. 

“Do… do what…?” I ask again, still utterly confused by his upbeat nature, how he could go from so nervous to  _ this.  _

“Paul, I’m gonna run away,” He hums, his eyes practically illuminating the dark kitchen with the way that they were glowing. “I’ve got everything in the car right now! It’s happening,” He nearly squeals. 

I’m dumbfounded. He’d talked so often, at length, about his whole plan to ditch England and run away to a tropical island with me, that he was sick of it all, that he wanted to start over. But, never in a million years did I ever think he’d go through with it! I open and close my mouth a few times, desperately looking for the words that I needed to respond to what he’d said. 

“I’m doing it, angel. I’ve been planning, I-  _ we’re  _ doing it.” He stated plainly, and for some unknown reason, I felt assurance settle in my chest. This was it, but it was okay, we were okay, we were gonna figure everything out. 

This was just the beginning. 

“But, you’ll come back for me, right?” I whisper, dropping my forehead against his, closing my eyes. 

“Always.” He replies, bruising a calloused hand against my cheek, “Nothing could keep me away,” He promises, pressing a delicate kiss against my lips. 

__

I watched the harsh headlines flash through on the morning news the next day. 

Car pulled from the sea, just off the loading dock. John’s car, his license plates and everything. 

Belongings found inside, doors open, believed that the body was carried out to sea. All of John’s things, including his guitar washed up pathetically on the shore.

The tinny voice of the man on the news read the headline. “No body to be found, belongings strewn about the dock and beach.”

A woman next to the stuffy newsman continues, “The windshield was broken, didn’t look like seatbelts were used in the crash, no airbags deployed, and it is believed that the owner of the car is dead. “

John was presumed dead. 

_ Dead.  _

I knew better, I knew that he wasn’t dead. He was just-just running away, this whole thing was a hoax. He couldn’t have really died in the process. He couldn’t have. This was supposed to be the start of our new life together, the good part, the part where after I finished school he’d sweep me off my feet to our new life in the middle of the ocean on an island, all by our lonesome. This was supposed to be the beginning of the story, not the end. This- it had to be fake. John wasn’t suicidal? 

Was he?

He wouldn’t. He promised I’d hear from him. He promised that he’d call as soon as he got away, as soon as he’d done it. But, this felt… too real: the bloody crash, the messiness of the scene, the fact that he’d let his fucking guitar get water damage. He barely let me touch that thing, I’d be kidding myself if I thought that he’d  _ ever _ let that guitar even touch water. 

It was like the part in the movie when the ringing in your ears drowns out everything that everyone else is saying, that part in the films where everyone around you is moving in slow motion. I felt my dad’s hands on my shoulders, I watched my brother rush across my line of sight, and I guess it was then that I realized that I’d dropped my glass of water and it had shattered against the tile floor of our living room. 

This wasn’t the end of our story. It couldn’t be. I refused to believe even for one moment that John Lennon would give up on me like that, would take his own life like that. He wouldn’t, not after everything we’d done, not after everything he’d said last night. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It simply couldn’t be. 

This could not be the end. 

It would not be our end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading,,, fret not ! the story is not over ;-) !! come say hi on Tumblr @ some-foreign-band !! appreciate you all heaps and heaps and heaps !!!!

**Author's Note:**

> eeeeek stay tuned for more ! :-)) & i hope u liked it :'-))


End file.
